


Reader's Special: 3rd Edition One Shot Reward Story Collection

by Disasteriffic_Kaz



Series: The Reader's Special Marathon [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Caring, Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:37:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 126,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2176602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasteriffic_Kaz/pseuds/Disasteriffic_Kaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of One Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Third Edition. Features many seasons and pre-series, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby/and more. See each chapter for specific info for each one shot reward fic. Each chapter is a Stand-alone story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For Xenascully

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Info: For Xenascully – Sam and Dean, skin tight snowsuits and an abominable snowman. Discuss.
> 
> A/N: Heh. Just for the hell of it this is set in season 1. Enjoy!

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

The snow fell in a silent fog of white, muffling every sound, even the so-soft ‘shushing’ of his skis as he cut back and forth down the mountain slope. Greg grinned in triumph. He had eluded the cops at the resort and gotten past the ski patrol and their pathetic attempt at a blockade to climb the mountain. He snorted a laugh as he switched direction again; as if he’d believe some crap story about a monster eating skiers. He cut close to the line of trees, weaving in and out of the sparse cover with ease and grinned again. No one was going to ruin his vacation.

Greg skied easily across the slope and back again, once more turning into the tree line with complete confidence in his skills as he dove between the trees, avoiding each obstacle with the smug thought that he could have competed in the Olympics. He swung closer to a large spruce, feeling the branches brush the edges of his form-fitting ski suit and laughed.

Greg’s laugh was choked off in a scream as a massive, furred arm swept out and wrapped around his chest. He kicked his legs, hampered by the skis as he was pulled up into the tree and his last, terror-filled scream echoed out onto the slope, swallowed by the swiftly falling snow.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

“Abominable snowmen? Really?” Dean raised a brow and smirked. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”

“Dude, I swear.” Sam tossed the paperclipped stack of articles to him and put his hands up. “There is an abominable snowman…or men --they’re not really clear -- running around the mountains above Aspen.”

“Wait.” Dean sat forward, his interest suddenly piqued. “Aspen Aspen? Snow bunnies and hot tubs Aspen? Oh, we are taking this job.”

Sam chuckled and grabbed Dean’s coffee. “Knew that’d get you.”

“Hey! Get your own!” Dean protested as Sam danced away from his reaching hand with the cup.

Sam raised the cup on his way to the bathroom with a grin. “Got mine.”

“Sammy, you bitch!” Dean yelled and snorted a laugh at the ‘Jerk’ that came through the closing door.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

The streets of Aspen were clogged with snow. Even the venerable winter retreat of the wealthy was having trouble dealing with the unprecedented late snow storm. It was May and those sorts of record falls were usually long behind them. Dean was hunched forward over the wheel just to see the road as they drove.

“Where is this lodge?” Dean asked his brother who had the map unfolded in his lap.

Sam looked up and pointed vaguely. “That way. Top of the road, the guy said.” He shrugged. “He seemed pretty sure we’d find it. According to…uh…” He looked down at his notes quickly. “Fred, it’s the highest lodge on the mountain and fairly lonely this time of year. Few ski bunnies and the patrol.”

“There better be snow bunnies,” Dean said hotly. “And a hot tub.”

Sam chuckled and shook his head. “Well, we could put Abominable in a bathing suit for you.”

Dean all out laughed at that and spared a glance from the road. “You know another word for the abominable snowman is…sasquatch. Right?”

“Oh, shut up,” Sam groaned and looked out the window in irritation while Dean laughed.

Ten more minutes of driving had the Impala straining as she climbed the steep, snow-covered road to the lodge that waited at its top. It was a massive A-frame backed against the white forest with a wall of windows at its front that looked out on the town below. Dean parked in front of the building and sighed in relief.

“Think we’re gonna wait ‘til the weather clears to drive back out of here,” Dean said and opened his door. “Come on. Let’s go find us some snow bunnies, Sammy!”

Sam followed him out of the car and to the trunk, grabbing their bags before heading inside the lodge. It looked like every cliché ski lodge Sam had ever seen in a film -- a fire pit, the mounted heads of unfortunate animals along the walls, and a dozen or so guests in snow suits lounging about here and there.

“What the hell are they wearing?” Dean asked, eyeing the skiers who were all decked out in skin-tight suits of loud colors -- red, green, yellow, and blue. “Sure not leaving anything to the imagination are they?”

“I thought ski suits were like…big and bulky.” Sam watched one of the men stride past them and felt the honest need to avert his eyes. “Wow.”

“Can I help you?” An older man with shoulder length, silver hair smiled at them from behind a desk off to their right.

“Uh…yeah. Are you Fred?” Sam went to the desk with Dean at his side and smiled as the man nodded. “I’m Sam; this is Dean. You said you had a…problem?”

“Right! Local wildlife!” Fred said a little too loudly and grinned around at the other guests in case they were listening. “Come back to the office. Hilde! Make some coffee and give it some Irish!”

Dean nodded with a smile. “My kinda coffee.”

“Here. Here.” Fred waved them into a spacious office and closed the door before dropping into a chair by a large window looking up onto the slope above. “I’m sorry. There’ve been enough wild stories the last couple of weeks. I didn’t want to give them anything more to gossip over. If any of them find out you’re here to…well, you know…there’ll be panic.”

“You’re sure it’s not just a hungry bear up there grabbing skier snacks?” Sam ran a finger along a mint rifle mounted on the wall with an appraising eye. It was old, Civil War era maybe, but in pristine condition. He wondered if it would still fire.

Fred rolled his eyes. “Yes, young man. I am. Those things have been up there longer than I’ve been alive but they’ve rarely attacked people until recently.” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “It’s all rather sad really.”

“I’m sure your dead skiers think so too,” Sam said and rolled his own eyes before sitting across from him.

“Well, I do appreciate you boys coming up here so fast to help.” Fred smiled at them and smiled more widely as the door opened and a heavy-set, older woman with blonde hair and a stripe of silver hair at her temple bustled in with a tray and several mugs. “This is my wife, Hilde.”

“Here we are.” Hilde gave Dean a mug, another to Sam, and then the last to her husband as she stood beside him. She looked Dean and Sam up and down and smirked. “Oh, it’s going to be fun getting you two suited up.”

“Suited up?” Dean raised his brows.

“Well, you can’t go up the mountain like that.” Hilde waved a hand and Fred, beside her, cleared his throat. “You need to blend in. Besides, those clothes won’t keep you warm up there. You need thermal suits.”

“Oh…no way,” Dean groaned and shook his head.

“Therm…” Sam broke off as realization dawned and his eyes widened in horror. “No. Just…no.”

“We are not wearing those…what the hell is everyone wearing?” Dean was ready to get violent over it, really.

“Thermal suits, dears.” Hilde laughed softly. “They’ll keep you warm up there, and the guests won’t think anything strange if you head up the mountain. You can ski…can’t you?”

“I can, yeah,” Sam smirked and looked over at his brother.

“Shut up. I can ski.” Dean glared at him. “When did you learn?”

Sam smile faded. “Jess.”

Dean sighed and nodded, then looked back to their hosts. “We should go up when the slopes are empty.”

“They’re empty now,” Fred shrugged. “The ski patrol has blocked off the mountain until the find the, uh…bear munching on people.”

“That kid from Texas, he went up two hours ago.” Hilde looked down at her husband sadly. “Haven’t seen him since.”

“What do you mean, he went up?” Fred rose out of his chair and turned to look out the window up through the falling snow. “They were supposed to stop anyone.”

“I don’t know. He just left saying he was going to get through and ski the high slope.” Hilde gave them a wan smile. “His vacation was over in a couple days and he was determined.”

“Great.” Dean sighed. “Better get us up there then. He might still be alive.”

“Follow me.” Hilde dropped a kiss on her husband’s head and went out, leaving Sam and Dean to follow her. “We have a shop right here in the lodge.

“Will you be able to get us past the ski patrol?” Sam asked as they crossed the lodge.

“That won’t be a problem. One of the men guarding the slope is Fred’s nephew. He knows what’s what.” Hilde turned a smile at them over her shoulder and then stopped, pulling open a door. “In you go. All closed up today, so we’ll have it to ourselves.”

The shop was small and fairly cramped. Hilde shoved them both toward two curtained changing rooms at the back and went into another room. They could hear her rummaging through something, and a few minutes later she returned with two ski suits in her arms; both bright red.

“Bright colors on the slopes, boys.” Hilde handed one too each of them. “That’s so if you get caught in an avalanche, they have a better chance of spotting you. Now, get dressed!” She waved her hands at them.

Dean unfolded his and held it up, looking over as Sam did the same and sent him a terrified look. “Lady, you think maybe you can find us a couple of these in adult sizes?” They were small. Skintight wouldn’t begin to cover what they would belike IN them, and he scowled dangerously at her.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Those _are_ extra-large. Don’t worry. They’ll stretch.” Hilde beamed a smile at them.

“Have you seen us?” Dean gestured to himself and Sam with a look of disbelief. “We’re not gonna get these over one leg!”

“Better squeeze in, then, because the only way you get up the mountain is if you’re properly attired.” Hilde said sternly and crossed her arms.

“Oh, man,” Sam groaned and went into one of the changing rooms. “I think I have socks bigger than this thing.”

“This ain’t gonna be pretty, dude.” Dean shoved into the other changing room and quickly pulled off his clothes. He was right. Getting into the snowsuit amounted to pulling a sock half the size of your foot up the whole of his body. Hilde was also right in that it stretched, slowly, grudgingly, to accommodate his large frame. In the end, he managed to get it zipped up to his neck and figured Hilde’s ears had to be burning with all the cussing he and Sam had done.

“I feel like a fruit roll-up,” Sam muttered as he stepped out of the changing room. Dean came out beside him and Sam had to snort at the image. It was…memorable.

Dean slapped a hand over his eyes after looking at his little brother. “Holy crap. I really need to un-see that.”

“What?” Sam looked over again with a frown.

“Dude…your…” Dean waved a hand in the general direction of Sam’s crotch without looking.

Sam snorted a laugh and blushed, covering himself with his hands. “You, uh…it’s not a field trip for me either.”

“Oh, my.” Sylvie blushed furiously as she got a good look at them…all of them… and fanned herself with a hand. “I’ll just…let me get…” She turned away to the store room, muttering. “Have to have loin cloths around here somewhere. Oh, my great granny! I am going to hell a happy woman.”

Dean burst out laughing while Sam only blushed harder, his neck and face soon matching his ski suit.

“I hate this job,” Sam muttered and dropped his head in shame.

“How’s my ass look?” Dean turned around, still laughing and grinned.

Sam looked before he could stop himself. “Aw, come on, man! Seriously?” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “This is not happening.”

“Well, if we gotta strut it, may as well flaunt it.” Dean shrugged and aimed a mega-watt leer at Hilde when she came back in, laughing as she missed a step and stumbled. “Dude, I think she’s drooling.”

“Oh, stop now. Here.” Hilde handed them each a small pile of cloth. “Cover your…cover up. I‘ll be waiting outside.” She fluttered her hands and escaped the little shop.

Sam held the cloth up, raising his brows as it unfolded in to what could only be a loin cloth. “We don’t…have to go kill this thing, do we? I mean, how many people could it really kill?”

Dean snorted and fumbled around, trying to tie the cloth at his waist. It didn’t cover a whole lot but it was as good as they were going to get. “You can tell Dad we ditched a job where people were dying ‘cause the dress code frightened you.”

“Not fair, dude.” Sam rolled his eyes and tied his own loin cloth around his waist. He pulled and tugged but it refused to do more than lay awkwardly over his…”I’m not going out there.”

“Yeah you are. Come on, Gigantor.” Dean tugged his arm and Sam groaned loudly.

“That’s the name you have to use right now? Avert your eyes, you freak.” Sam slapped the back of Dean’s shoulder and pointedly did not look down. It was disturbing enough knowing the suit he wore was hugging his back side just as suggestively. “It’s like a ski lodge for porn stars or something.”

Dean laughed out loud again and opened the door back into the lodge, giving Sam a flourish to go out ahead of him. “Hilde’s gotta have her breath back by now, but we can fix that.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam hopped off the ski lift at the top of the slope with his skis, stumbling slightly as Dean bumped into him getting out of the contraption’s way as it continued on its endless circle up and down the mountain.

“This would be a hell of a view if it weren’t snowing this heavy.” Sam pointed down the slope but they could only see a hundred yards or so ahead; Beyond was a curtain of white. He dropped to his skis and bent to check that his boots were hooked into them.

“Gah! My eyes!” Dean exclaimed and threw an arm as he watched Sam bend over. “Don’t do that while I’m looking.”

Sam laughed and stood, testing the skis grip on his boots and nodded. “Guess you better stay in front then, huh?”

“If we weren’t up here looking for big ugly I’d beat your ass to the bottom.” Dean bent and checked his own before standing and grinning over at him. “…and that’s one fat ass you got there.”

“Hey!” Sam glared. “My ass is not fat!”

“Come on, Porky.” Dean grinned, laughed and took off down the slope.

“Pile driving you into a snow drift, first chance I get,” Sam grumbled and kicked off after him. “Then into a tree.”

Dean bobbled lightly on his skis and fought to get his speed down. Whatever he had boasted to Sam, it had been a damn long time since he’d had to do this. “French fries or pizza slice?” He muttered and chuckled, sliding the backs of his skis out and slowing his descent. He snarled as Sam suddenly appeared on his left and cut easily back in an arc as though he’d done this all his life. “Jackass!” Dean shouted as a sheet of snow, thrown up by Sam’s ski’s hit him in the face.

Sam laughed and let his momentum take him to the tree line at the edge of the slope. He skidded to a stop against the trees and looked into the forest. It was dense enough deeper in that the heavy snowfall on the slope was lightened and made it easier to see. He glanced over as Dean came to a credible, if shaky, stop beside him and smirked.

“Shut up,” Dean growled. “So I’m rusty.” He pulled the rifle strapped to his back around in front.

Sam looked down at his wrist and the altimeter he’d strapped there, brushing snow from it. “This is the approximate altitude where the attacks occurred.” He used his pole to snap his boots loose from the skis and stepped off. “This suit may be…skimpy but it is damn warm.”

Dean nodded and got one of his feet free. “Skin suits.” He shook his head, prying his other foot free. “Who the hell comes up with this crap?”

Sam started into the woods, boots sinking in the powdery snow as he brought his rifle around from his back. “Hope there’s not more than one abominable snowman up here.”

“Just watch your ass.” Dean came up beside him, grunting with effort as he walked through the deep snow. “’cause I’m sure as hell not watchin’ it.” He chuckled at the disgusted look on Sam’s face. “Hey.” He stopped and reached across to Sam, nudging his arm. “Look.” Thirty or so yards ahead, the snow around a large Spruce tree was spotted with blood. “Guess we picked the right place.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

“They’ve been gone too long.” Hilde paced along the back deck of the lodge, wringing her hands. “Fred, maybe we shouldn’t have sent those boys up there.”

“They’ll be fine, Hilde.” Fred tried to calm his wife again, though he didn’t know why he bothered. When Hilde decided to worry about something, it was an all-out affair. He gave it another five minutes before she set on one of her stressed baking sprees. He smirked. Hilde’s ‘worried’ cookies were worth the aggravation.

“You stop smiling at me like that.” Hilde stopped and planted her fists on her hips to glare at her husband. “How can you not be concerned?”

“Because I met their Dad once and believe me, if they were trained by that man, they’ve got nothing to worry about up there.” Fred waved a hand up the mountain.

“Well, if it’s such an easy job, why don’t I see YOU trudging up the mountain to take care of it? Hmm?” Hilde raised her brows as though she’d won the argument.

“’Cause I’m not an idiot.” Fred rolled his eyes and glanced at his watch; two minutes to go until she stomped off to bake cookies. His mouth was already watering. He glanced out, off the deck. His eyes widened and he groaned sadly. “Dammit.”

“What?” Hilde turned to follow his line of sight and gasped, covering her mouth in surprise as Sam and Dean appeared out of the forest, arms over each other’s shoulders and staggering wearily as they made their way to the lodge. “Oh, my goodness. They’re back! Boys! Are you alright?”

“Dammit.” Fred sighed and followed as his wife bounded down the steps into the snow and out to them. “Two more minutes and I’d have been in cookie heaven.”

Hilde stepped lightly over the packed snow around the lodge, lifting her heavy skirt as she neared them and then stopped. “Oh…oh, dear.” She clapped one hand over her mouth, then her eyes and then back over her mouth because really…how could she not look. Their suits had been torn in several places. Sam’s chest was exposed with part of his suit hanging off his side, while Dean was showing a delicious amount of thigh that drew her eyes up to his loin cloth and reddened her face even more.

“We’re fine,” Dean called and smiled tiredly as they reached her. “Little banged up, but we’re ok.” He smirked as Sam groaned and whispered something to him. “Right, uh…you should go ahead of us.” He chuckled.

Hilde frowned as they came alongside her. “Why?”

“Cause these suits of yours don’t do too well when you’re tossed through a few trees,” Sam grumbled.

Hilde, unable to ignore her curiosity, moved around them. She gasped, feeling herself go warm and sputtered. “Good…God.” The backs of their snowsuits were torn and shredded, clearly showing in some cases bleeding welts on their skin from the branches they had gone through, but, more importantly…leaving parts of them exposed, specifically their…very shapely backsides.

“I hate this job,” Sam growled under his breath as he heard Hilde’s sharp intake of breath behind them.

Dean laughed and waved as Fred came down to help them up the stairs. “Hey, Fred. You’re gonna wanna let the ski patrol know there’s another dead skier up there. The kid didn’t make it. Sorry.” He waited while Fred slid under Sam’s other arm. “Also, not our fault if Hilde has a few hot dreams for a while. You made us wear this crap.”

Fred looked behind him to his wife, down at Sam and Dean’s backs where his eyes blew wide and then back to his wife’s brilliantly red face. “I think she’s drooling. Good grief. Pull yourself together, woman!”

Hilde waved her hands with a breathless laugh as she followed them inside. “You get them settled. I’ll go…I’m going to…make some cookies…or something.”

Fred chuckled as she practically ran off to the kitchens. “You boys are in for some good food.” He directed them to a side hall away from the other guests. “Got a room down here you can use to clean up.”

“It’s drafty in here,” Sam commented, wishing he had a free arm to cover his butt with.

Dean laughed again. “Next time I tell you to move your ass, move it.”

“I thought you were making another crack about my suit!” Sam glared at him.

Dean snorted a laugh. “You said crack.”

“Oh, for…Fred, can I borrow a hammer to hit my brother with?” Sam looked over and rolled his eyes, finding the older man covering his mouth to try and muffle his laughter. “I hate…this job.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	2. For JaniceC678

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For JaniceC678 – …Sam and Dean, bruised and battered from a rough hunt need downtime, show up at Bobby’s unannounced and find Sylvie is visiting. While there, guys take a simple case. Both end up trapped/prisoner/whatever. When they don’t come back, Bobby and Sylvie to the rescue…
> 
> A/N: I love that others love Sylvie as much as I do and thank you Janice for letting me play with her one more time! :D

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam groaned under the weight of his brother hanging off his left arm. “Dude…you’re not walk…walking again.”

Dean jerked his head up from the half-doze he’d slipped into. “Sorry.” He got his legs under him again. He wrinkled his nose, smelling something burning and looked up. “Oh, sh…shit. Hang on.” He twisted around with his other arm and slapped the back of Sam’s head.

“Ow! Dammit, Dean!”

Dean snickered. “Hair was on fire.”

“You enjoyed that way too much.” Sam reached his right arm up and hissed out a pained breath, letting it drop back down as he swayed. “Ow. Damn.”

Dean took more of his own weight. “You gonna live?”

Sam nodded. “Unfortunately.” He decided this was the last time he let Dean talk him into taking a flamethrower after a family of ghouls. Dean had roasted three of them before it had malfunctioned when he’d tossed it and resorted to the shotgun while Sam was severing heads. The flaming ghouls, however, didn’t have the decency to die right away. Instead they flailed around the catacomb, setting everything they touched alight, and they’d finally had to run to escape the immolation while the ghouls screamed and finally got around to actually dying. Add to that the number of times they had both been tossed around and, in Dean’s case, had his head slammed into a coffin…they were not in a good way.

“I’m driving,” Dean said suddenly.

Sam laughed softly. “No you’re not. You can’t even see straight.”

“You can’t w-walk straight.” Dean glared at his feet, aware he was seeing quite a few more than he should be and not liking it one bit. “Flamethrower was almost a good idea.”

“No. It wasn’t.” Sam rolled his eyes. “And I don’t need to walk straight to drive straight,” he added as they reached the car and made his brother get in the passenger seat, prying the keys out of his hand. He staggered around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel carefully. His ribs on the right side protested the motion, and his arm…if it wasn’t broken, it was one hell of a sprain. As it was, he had to fumble the keys into the ignition left-handed.

“And I shouldn’t be driving?” Dean rolled his eyes and groaned as his head spun in response.

“We need some down time.” Sam said as he backed out of the graveyard.

“Both hands on the wheel, dammit!” Dean growled. “Ten and two, Sammy. Ten…and two!”

Sam snorted. “Not with this arm. Call Bobby? We could use a place to heal up.”

Dean glared over at him as well as he could manage, and got his phone out. “Pain in my ass.” He hit the speed dial for Bobby and listened to it ring.

“Singer.” Bobby’s gruff voice answered, sounding as though he’d been woken up.

“Bobby. Sam got us a little banged up. We need some down time at your place.” Dean grinned and pointed to his head to remind his brother he was concussed before Sam punched him.

“You’re an ass,” Sam grumbled and focused on the road.

“How bad you hurt?” Bobby asked, knowing full well from Dean’s tone that whatever condition they were in was his fault rather than Sam’s. He knew them too well.

“Sam’s driving,” Dean said by way of explanation.

Bobby snorted. “That bad? Fine, You can…what the?”

“Bobby?” Dean sat up as he heard the sound of something breaking in the background and then the line went dead. “Bobby!” He looked down at his phone and over at Sam.

“What?” Sam stared at him, confused.

“Floor it. Something’s up.” Dean re-dialed Bobby and growled when no connection was made. “Dammit. Heard something weird, like a struggle maybe, and the line died.”

The Impala’s engine roared louder as Sam pressed on the gas, his own injuries forgotten in concern for their adoptive father. “Just keep trying him. Try one of the other lines.”

“Already am.” Dean was on his fourth bogus law enforcement line, all going directly to Bobby’s kitchen, before he finally gave up and tossed his phone to the floor of the car. “All dead.” He glanced over and saw Sam was as grim-faced as he was.

“It’s Bobby. He’ll be fine.” Sam nodded, trying to reassure himself as much as his brother. “He can handle whatever it is.”

“Maybe,” Dean muttered. It was still too soon after losing Dad. He couldn’t even consider the thought of something happening to Bobby; they needed him too much.

Four and a half hours later, Sam turned into Singer Salvage with a white-knuckled grip on the wheel. They had driven through a hellacious storm to get there, rather than stop and wait it out like he wanted to. His own vision was blurring thanks to his ribs and his inability to take a deep breath. He needed to lie down and Dean…Dean was snoring into the passenger window, sleeping off his mild concussion. Sam eased the car to a stop in front of the house. He hissed in a breath, having forgotten for a moment and reaching for Dean with his right hand. He pulled it in against him and got out, staggering around to the passenger side instead.

“Dean.” Sam pulled the door open, careful not to let Dean fall out face first, and propped his brother up with his good arm. “Wake up. We’re here.”

“Wha…” Dean’s eyes snapped open and then back shut as a splitting headache pounded at him.

“Bobby’s.” Sam turned his head as the wind drove a sheet of rain into his face. “Lights are out.” He looked down at his brother, not liking his pale face. “You should stay here. I can handle this.”

That snapped Dean out of his haze and he straightened in the seat, pushing off Sam’s supporting hand. “It’s ok. I got this.”

Sam rolled his eyes while Dean stood, swayed, and steadied himself on the door. “Uh-huh. I can see that.”

“Shotguns.”

“Just…try not to fall over.” Sam groaned and went around to the trunk. He pulled out two shotguns loaded with rock salt and closed it quietly. Dean ambled around the side of the car to him and took his, getting his hand around it on the second try. “Dude, you’re concussed. Sit this ou…”

“It’s Bobby, Sam,” Dean said darkly and looked up at the house they had more or less grown up in, at least as much as they had any place they could call “home” from the time Sam was six months old. “Let’s do this.” He worked hard to walk in a straight line to the porch, satisfied when he only wobbled once, and stood beside the door as Sam came up beside him and took the handle. Sam raised a brow at him, Dean gave a nod, and Sam yanked it open to rush inside with Dean at his back.

Sam swept through the short hall in the dark and followed the flicker of candlelight into the living room. He dropped the muzzle of the shotgun down, slammed a hand over his eyes, and groaned. “Holy crap!”

“What? Bobby?” Dean rushed in beside him and stared, shocked. Their adoptive father was sprawled on the beat up couch with none other than Sylvie, the retired hunter, sprawled on top of him and barely keeping her shirt on. “I didn’t see this. Nope. Not seein’ it.”

“Boys, what the hell?” Bobby shouted and moved a laughing Sylvie off his chest and onto the couch as he stood. “Don’t you idjits know how to knock?”

“Oh man.” Sam lowered his hand, relieved to see Sylvie had pulled her shirt closed. “Uh…we uh, we couldn’t get a hold of you and we thought you’d been attacked…or something.”  
  
“Looks like he was bein’ attacked.” Dean rolled his eyes and then swayed slightly. “Attacked by the naughty hunter lady.”

Sam snorted and shoved Dean into the chair next to the door. “Sit already.”   
  
Bobby glared at them. “Damn storm knocked the power and the phones out! Ya still coulda –“

“Oh, stop yelling at the boys, Bobby.” Sylvie stood and cast a critical eye over them, assessing their levels of injury and settled on Sam who had his left hand wrapped around the right side of his chest and his right arm just hanging with the shotgun dangling at the end like he didn’t know what to do with it. “Sam.” She went and took his arm, pulling him over to the couch and pushed him down.

“Oh, I really don’t think I wanna sit here now,” Sam smirked up at Bobby. “You have a cleansing ritual?”

“Sylvie, what are you even doing here?” Dean asked and tried to shake Bobby off when the older Hunter came over and grabbed his chin. “Didn’t we leave you in Boone?”

Sylvie sighed. “Honestly, I needed to get out of there for a while. After Jeanne…” She trailed off with a far-a-way look, remembering her goddaughter who had killed so many and that she had had to kill. She wasn’t sure she was ever going to be alright with that but Bobby made one hell of a distraction. “Bobby and I have been chatting on the phone, so, when I needed to get away…” She gave a small shrug.

“I’m sorry.” Sam told her softly and smiled to match the soft one she turned on him.

“Pretty sure I’ve already told you…more than once…you have nothing to be sorry for, Sam.” Sylvie smoothed a hand over his cheek and then pulled the shotgun away. “Now, what’s happened to you two?”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

“They should have called by now.” Sylvie took the mug of whiskey-laced coffee Bobby handed her and stared at the phones lined up on his wall, begging one of them to ring.

“It’s a salt and burn.” Bobby shrugged and sat beside her. “Doesn’t get any easier than that.”

Sylvie scowled at him. “If it’s so simple then how come they aren’t back yet?” She raised her brows at him. “They’re an hour away. They should be back. We shouldn’t have let them go out so soon. It’s only been two days.”

Bobby chuckled and slid one arm over her shoulders while he took his phone out of his pocket with the other. “Didn’t take ‘em long to get under your skin, did it?”

“Oh, shut up and call, Singer,” Sylvie bumped him with her shoulder and sipped her 100 proof coffee with a laugh. He was right. She had all but adopted the Winchester boys in her time with them. Truthfully, she couldn’t understand how anyone could know them and not love them. They were amazing people, and that was in no little part because of the man who had helped raise them. She smiled fondly at Bobby’s frowning face.

“Huh. Dean ain’t answerin’ his phone.” Bobby quickly dialed Sam’s, listening to it ring. The first thread of worry wormed its way into his heart as Sam’s phone went to voicemail as well. “Balls.” He glanced over at Sylvie. “Ok, now I’m worried.” He groaned and gave her shoulders a squeeze as he stood up. “Well? You comin’?”

Sylvie laughed. “Like you could stop me.”

“Been a while since you were on a hunt, you know.” Bobby smirked at her as he passed her to the hall. “You could be rusty.”

“Rusty, my ass,” Sylvie mock-growled and planted a firm slap on Bobby’s ass, going around him to open the door. “Let’s go find your boys…assuming you can keep up.”

“Oh, woman, you’re gonna pay for that.” Bobby said happily and followed her outside to his truck.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sylvie studied the old, sprawling house in the moonlight as she and Bobby passed around it to the small graveyard at its back. It was four stories of falling down, dilapidated splendor. Even the eyrie on the roof was canted to the side and covered in green vines. “Who builds a place like this and lets it go to seed?”

“Some eccentric writer back in the sixties.” Bobby glanced up at the house and snorted. “Dude was off his damn rocker. Started walling up his servants in the cellar…alive.”

“Yikes.” Sylvie shivered. “Is that who the boys are here to take care of?”

Bobby nodded and waved toward the little cemetery plot ahead of them. “They didn’t even have to go in the house so I don’t get it.” He shined his flashlight on the small collection of headstones and hopped over the low fence.

“Back there.” Sylvie took his elbow and pulled. She could clearly see a fresh pile of earth by a stone in the back and sighed with concern as they neared; two shovels lay tossed to the ground beside an open grave. The coffin in the bottom had been cleared off and the lid partially pried up. “Bobby.” She set her hand on the headstone above a dark, glistening blood stain.

“Balls.” Bobby peered around the expansive back lawn, hoping to see Dean and Sam somewhere and felt his guts twist when he didn’t. “Alright.” He dropped his bag and then climbed down into the grave. “Gimme one of those shovels.”

“What if they’re…” Sylvie started but Bobby cut her off.

“Wherever they are, we’re gonna toast this son of a bitch first.” Bobby took the shovel she handed down and slammed the point into the lid of the coffin. “Make sure he ain’t…screwin’ with ‘em…while we look.” He bent once he had more of the lid loose and pried it up to reveal the skeleton beneath. He jerked his head up as a shotgun went off.

“Keep going,” Sylvie informed him calmly and smiled. “I don’t think he wants to move on.”

Bobby grinned and pulled his duffel over to the edge, taking out the salt. “Tough shit.” He upended the container over the bones and then climbed out with a helping hand from Sylvie. He grinned again as she pulled him up with one hand and blasted the spirit again with the other. “You are one sexy lady, Sylvie.” Sylvie laughed and winked at him. Bobby took the lighter fluid from the bag and squeezed it liberally over the remains.

Sylvie had to admit that, even as worried as she was about the boys, it was damn exhilarating to be on the job again with a gun in her hand. She looked over at Bobby and smiled…even better with a handsome, scruffy man at her side. She lowered the gun as flames roared to life in the grave. “So…cellar?”

Bobby nodded. “Cellar.” He picked up his bag and climbed back over the fence, heading for the house. “Old habits don’t change, even when you’re dead.” They jogged across the lawn to the house side by side and he kept a lid on the fear; wondering what the old, dead bastard had done to his boys to take them both out at once.

“They’ll be alright,” Sylvie assured him softly as they climbed through a smashed set of French doors into the house. “Nothin’ those boys do better than taking care of each other.”

Bobby snorted and rolled his eyes. “You got no idea.” He took his flashlight back out and flicked it on in the main hall. “There. Cellar access under the stairs.” He yanked the door open and led the way down the stairs. “Dean? Sam?” He shouted as they reached the bottom.

“How extensive is the cellar?” Sylvie looked back and forth down the hall at the bottom of the stairs.

“Length of the house.” Bobby shrugged. “So…big. You take left?”

Sylvie nodded and turned down the hall. “Boys? Can you hear us?” There was only one door at the end of the hall, and she pushed it open, taking out her own flashlight. “Dean?”

“Sam!” Bobby shouldered open an old door, glancing over his shoulder to see Sylvie step out of sight at the other end of the hall. He shook himself to settle his nerves; the ghost was toast. “Dean?”

“Bobby!”

He spun at Sylvie’s shout and ran to the other end of the hall. “Sylvie? You alright?” Her voice held a note of fear that made him nervous. He ran through the open door and found her pressed against a brick wall.

“They’re in here! I heard Dean. Dean?” Sylvie kept her ear to the wall as Bobby joined her and took her arm.

“Son of a bitch walled them in,” Bobby growled. He shined his light and saw alarge hammer on the floor. He scooped it up and went back to the wall, putting his ear to the wall as he heard Dean’s voice calling. “We’re coming! Move back if you can!”

Dean dropped his head in relief and tightened his arms around his brother. “Bobby’s here, Sammy. We’re gonna be ok.” He got a low moan in response that didn’t help to settle his nerves. It was pitch black in their prison, and he’d only been able to feel the blood and open gash on his brother’s head. He couldn’t tell how bad it was, but the fact that Sam had yet to actually wake up all the way scared the crap out of him. He remembered the sickening sound when the ghost had thrown Sam into the tombstone with a shiver. It was the last thing he could recall, and still had no idea how they’d ended up in the damn cellar, much less buried alive inside the wall.

He huddled over Sam, shielding his head with his own shoulders as the first chips of brick and mortar flew from the wall. Dean squinted in the sudden flash of light and looked up, grinning at the widening hole in the wall. “What took you so long?” He called.

Bobby pulled out a few more bricks and put his head through with the light. “Dean?” His eyes widened as Dean leaned back and he got a look at Sam’s head. There was far too much red down the side of his face and shirt. “Shit! He alright?”

“I dunno. You got a spare light?” Dean reached up and grabbed the one Bobby handed to him, shining it down on his brother’s head. He hissed in a breath. “Gonna need some stitches for sure.” The gash ran from his right temple back into his hairline. Dean plucked Sam’s eyelids open, his frown deepening as his pupils seemed slow to react to the light. “Think this is gonna require a hospital, Bobby.”

“He’ll be fine. Have you out in a minute.” Bobby pulled his head back and went at the wall again.

“Sam?” Sylvie asked softly, holding her own light for Bobby to work by.

“Head wound,” Bobby replied gruffly and swung the hammer into the wall harder.

Sylvie swallowed her own fear, keeping the light steady and looked at the spots of blood on her fingers from where she’d touched the headstone, knowing now that it was Sam’s. “We should have made them stay until they were healed up.”

“They’ve had worse…and…done the job.” Bobby grunted with the effort of breaking the wall apart. Even as he defended the decision to let them go off on a job with a concussion, bruised ribs and a sprained arm between the two of them, he felt guilty for not making them sit still for a few more days at least.

“Well, they’re sure as hell taking a few days off now,” Sylvie said angrily and moved to look into the hole now that Bobby had it almost large enough to get them out. “I’ll tie them both down if I have to.”

Bobby chuckled and tossed the hammer aside. “That I’d pay to see. Ok, boys.” He climbed into the wall and knelt beside them. “He pass out again?” he asked, brushing a hand through the blood-heavy, dark hair on Sam’s forehead.

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” Dean said softly and met Bobby’s eyes with fear plain in his own though he kept his voice steady. “Didn’t think anything could crack his egg-head.”

Bobby smiled and nodded. “Let’s get him up and outta here.” He kept a close eye on Dean as they pulled Sam up carefully between them but didn’t see any sign that he was reinjured.

“Stop starin’ at me,” Dean growled and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know how Casper got the drop on me, ok?”

“Oh. good grief,” Sylvie groaned as they dragged Sam out through the wall. She handed Bobby her light and took Sam’s face in her hands, lifting it up to get a good look at the wound. “Definitely going to the E.R. for this. He could have a skull fracture.”

“He ain’t gonna be happy when he wakes up.” Bobby smirked. “Neither one of these idjits is fond of hospitals.”

“Hey, I like ‘em just fine.” Dean smirked and pulled Sam’s arm more securely over his shoulders. “Long as the nurses are hot, I’m good.”

Sylvie rolled her eyes. “Men.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam groaned as Sylvie stuffed another pillow behind his back and handed him a bowl of soup. “Really, Sylvie. I’m fine.” He smiled tightly up at her and made himself sit still as she fiddled with the bandage on his forehead again.

Dean walked in behind her and chuckled, relieved to see Sam awake and alert at the same time even if he was adding irritated to the list. “You could always fend her off with your brace.”

Sam raised his right arm and waved it at his brother instead. “Could beat _your_ ass with it.” His sprained arm had become a hairline fracture.

“You’d be happier if you’d actually take the pain medication the hospital gave you,” Sylvie pointed out in a saccharine sweet voice and tapped the bandage on his head firmly. She smiled when he moaned and dropped his head back.

“That…wasn’t fair.” Sam gasped and slammed his eyes shut to ride out the fresh headache.

“Hey.” Dean jumped over to the couch with a glare for Sylvie. He liked the woman a lot but no one was allowed to cause his little brother pain except him.

Sylvie showed him no fear and chuckled. “Maybe you can make him take them.” She pulled a bottle out of her pocket and tossed it to Dean.

He caught it one-handed with a rattle and sat next to his brother on the couch. Dean looked up at Sylvie and rolled his eyes when she planted her fists on her hips and stared at him. “Geez, lady. Alright.”

“I wouldn’t argue with her, son.” Bobby came into the living room and handed her a cup of coffee while glaring down at his boys. “Betcher ass neither one of ya are gettin’ out that door again ‘til she’s sure you’re fightin’ fit.”

“I think we’re…being managed,” Sam muttered softly, careful not to raise his voice and make his head pound worse.

“Think you’re right.” Dean shook his head, amused, and shook two pills out of the bottle. “Guess you oughta stop pissing them off then, huh?”

“Shut up.” Sam gave him a pathetic version of a glare, but took the pills. Sylvie had made it painfully clear that he wasn’t as ‘fine’ as he insisted he was.

“I think we can leave the kids alone to play nice now,” Sylvie said and turned to Bobby with a smile. She trailed a hand along his jaw with a suggestive wink. “Don’t know about you, Bobby, but I could use some grown-up time.”

“Oh…my god.” Sam clapped his hands over his ears. “I did NOT hear that.”

“Aw, COME on!” Dean groaned loudly and covered his eyes as Bobby grabbed a handful of Sylvie’s ass and led her out of the room laughing. “That’s just wrong!”

“This is what walking in on your parents having sex is like, isn’t it?” Sam shuddered and took his pills, swallowing them dry. “Can I have two more? I really want to be unconscious for what comes next.”

Dean turned to stare up the stairs where they had vanished and shook himself. “I hear one moan and I’ll _carry_ you to the car. No way we’re listenin’ to Bobby getting his freak on.”

Both men cussed as the first loud giggle floated down the stairs. “Shit. No way.” Sam struggled to push himself up. “I…did not need to hear Bobby…giggle.”

Dean was caught between horror and laughter and finally gave in to the laugh, pushing Sam back down on the couch. “He’s old, dude. How long can it last?”

Sam groaned theatrically and threw an arm over his eyes. “I don’t even want to consider it.”

Another very un-Bobby like laugh filtered down to them following by a very obvious moan from Sylvie, and Dean changed his mind. He pulled Sam carefully up, propping him against his shoulder and grabbing a pillow. “Garage. You can lay in the backseat while I work on my baby.”

“Deal.” Sam let Dean get him to his feet and closed his eyes. “Must go faster.” A very clear male voice was now moaning. “Really…faster, dude.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	3. For Colby's Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Colby’s Girl - for my story I would like it set in season one, Dean worried and caring about an injured Sam while trapped somewhere.
> 
> A/N: Oh no! An excuse to play with season 1 boys? How ever shall I manage? :P As you wish!

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean ducked under a swing from the pissed off ghoul and growled his frustration. It had led them on a merry chase up twenty damn floors before they cornered him in a maze of office cubicles. He grunted as Sam was thrown into him and they went to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

“How come…he couldn’t eat somebody…slower?” Dean groaned and shoved Sam off him, kicking out at the ghoul’s knee. The thing’s last ‘meal’ had been a college track star with freakish long legs that made his brother’s look normal. He grinned as the creature howled and dropped to one knee.

“Well, now you’re just pissing it off,” Sam growled and surged to his feet with his machete. The ghoul had bent the barrel of his shotgun seven floors back. He swung for its head as it lunged away from the blade and swept his legs from him, sending him back to the floor in a heap. “Crap!”

“Gone soft, Sammy!” Dean said with a grin and aimed at the ghoul’s head.

Sam rolled to his back, and his eyes widened in shock as the building began to shake. “Oh, no.”

Dean swayed with the building. “You gotta be kidding me. An earthquake?”

“Not good!” Sam got to his knees and saw the ghoul pull something from the floor. He saw his brother losing his balance as the quake worsened and the ghoul pull its arm back with its eyes on him. “Dean!” Sam launched from his knees to push his brother out of harm’s way as the ghoul threw whatever it was. Sam saw something silver wink in the flickering fluorescent lights and grunted as that something buried itself in his side.

Dean swung the shotgun up around his brother as they fell…again…and fired, grinning with pride satisfaction as its head exploded in a cloud of red, and then had the breath knocked out of him as they crashed into a desk and then the floor. “Crap…move, dude. Can’t breathe.” He shoved at Sam and flinched when his hand found something warm and wet. “Sammy?” He rolled Sam off on the now wildly swaying floor and stared; a silver letter opener stood out from Sam’s side, just below his ribs on the right side.

“Move…gotta move.” Sam took hold of Dean’s arms. “Stairs. Now.”

“Just let me…”

“No time.” Sam shook his head and used the desk to get to his knees. He’d spent four years in California, and he knew the stairs were the most structurally sound part of any high-rise. “Move!” He didn’t have the breath to explain to Dean that this quake felt like it was working up to be a bad one or why the getting to the stairs was imperative. Thankfully, Dean seemed to realize the urgency in his brother’s voice and pulled him to his feet.

Dean got them both moving in a staggering run as the whole world rocked and rolled around them. He tried to keep them on their feet while the quake grew more powerful, slamming through the door into the stairwell. “How in hell…did you live out here…for four damn years?” He panted and hitched Sam’s arm over his shoulders while keeping a near-panicked grip on the rail with his other hand.

“Get used to it,” Sam said through clenched teeth, trying not to let his stomach revolt at the sensation of the letter opener shifting inside him as they moved. He gasped, choking on a shout of pain as they were both thrown sideways and down the last few steps to the next landing.

Dean cursed as his hand was ripped from the rail and somehow managed to twist them so Sam landed on top of him rather than slamming into the cement floor of the landing. His head cracked into the wall and Dean saw black spots while the earth shook itself apart beneath him.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean jerked awake with a gasp. “Sam?” His brother still lay half on top of him and coughed as Dean picked his head up from the wall with a groan. Dust clogged the air, and Dean started coughing as well as he shifted Sam off his chest and pushed himself up. The floor shifted under him and he froze.

“Dean, don’t…don’t move too m…much.” Sam panted. He clamped a hand around his brother’s arm reflexively as pain burned through his side.

It took Dean a moment to realize that moonlight was filtering into the stairwell. His eyes adjusted and he looked up, eyes widening in shock. “Dude, weren’t there like five floors above us?” The top of the stairwell was open to the night sky in a gaping hole ten feet above them. He felt Sam suck in another gasping breath against him. “Sammy?” The image of the letter opener stuck into his brother’s side popped into his head, and he shoved himself up against the wall, ignoring the shaking of the floor. “Let me see.” He looked down Sam’s body and gave his own gasp; the stairs were gone beyond Sam’s feet. They had collapsed down into the building. Tendrils of smoke drifted up from the floors below. “Holy crap.”

“Came out,” Sam said in a voice tight with pain. He let Dean manhandle him until he was sitting with his back to his brother’s chest; it was all they had room for in their little corner of safety. “Letter opener…when we fell.”

“Shit,” Dean awkwardly felt around his pockets and pulled out a little flashlight. He flicked it on and shined it down the right side of his brother’s chest. “Move your hand.” He tugged the blood-soaked shirts up from his brother’s waist, wincing as he saw the puncture and the blood still flowing sluggishly from it. He pulled Sam’s shirts back down and pressed them into the wound with his hand. “Sorry,” he muttered softly as Sam jerked and moaned with the fresh pain. “Gotta stop the bleeding.”

Sam nodded. “Can we get…get down?”

Dean shined the light around with failing hope. They had three feet of stair left leading up and nothing below. “Think we’re stuck here for now.”

Sam held up his cell phone and let it drop back to his lap. “Tried call…calling while you were out.” He shook his head. “No signal.”

“Ok. You’ll be ok.” Dean slid his free arm across the front of Sam’s shoulders as he started to shiver. It spiked Dean’s worry. It was still eighty degrees, even though it was after midnight, maybe warmer in the ruined stairwell. If Sam was cold, it was due to blood loss. “Hear that?” He cocked his head as the sound of sirens went up from all over the city. “Help’s on the way.”

“S’good.” Sam closed his eyes and fought the need to throw up, swallowing hard. Blood loss was a bitch and definitely his least favorite injury. The pain, the nausea, dizziness, and the splitting headache all combined to make him miserable, and he was freezing now as well. Only Dean’s warmth against his back gave him any relief. “You could probably…probably climb down.” Sam nodded wearily. “Get help faster.”

Dean had already considered and dismissed that idea. “I try to climb off here, the whole thing’ll probably come down. You’re stuck with me.” He smirked as Sam snorted and then hissed in a breath. “Easy, buddy.” He tightened his grip over Sam’s shoulders and pressed his hand more firmly over the wound.

“Have to do…something.” Sam couldn’t stop his head lolling back onto his brother’s shoulder; His head was spinning in earnest now. “Let them know…we’re up here.”

“They’ll find us, Sam,” Dean said surely. “First responders to a building do a building-to-building search. Might take them a little while to get to us, but they’ll get here.”

Sam opened his eyes and craned his head to try and see Dean’s face in the dim light. “How do you…”

“How do I know?” Dean sighed and flicked off the flashlight to conserve the batteries. “I was, uh…I was in Palo Alto year before last.” He rolled his eyes as Sam stared in surprise at him. “During that big quake. What? Yes, I checked up on your dumb ass.”

Sam let his head roll back with a small smile. While he was irritated that Dean hadn’t thought he could take care of himself, it gave him the warm feeling he used to have as a kid when he’d see his big brother lurking outside his schools for him. “Such a sof…softie.”

Dean snorted. “Whatever. Anyway, I got caught up with the first responders when they came through.” He closed his eyes on the grim memories of that night and his crash course in earthquake response. “So I know there’ll be someone at the bottom of this stairwell inside an hour.”

“Ok.” Sam’s head rolled into his brother’s chin as another wave of light-headedness rolled over him. “You get hurt?”

“What? Oh. In that quake, you mean?” Dean shrugged, careful not to jostle his brother. “Naw, I was fine. Checked on you and then tried to get out of town. It was nothing.”

“Dean, please?” Sam’s voice was soft and a little breathless. “Talk, ok?” He needed something to focus on other than the need to sleep that was quickly overtaking him.

“You’re a pain, you know that?” Dean said without heat and resigned himself to telling Sam. He shifted Sam slightly so he could press more firmly over the wound and raised his chin on to the top of his shaggy hair as his head rolled under it. “I only got four blocks from your apartment when I had to stop. Roads were trashed. Hell, the whole neighborhood was leveled.”

“Remember that,” Sam nodded under his brother’s chin. “Jess…Jess had friends there…didn’t make it.”

“It was a mess,” Dean said softly and wondered if any of the bodies he’d found that night belonged to Jess’ friends. “Half the city was shut down, and only three emergency responders were there. They pretty much press-ganged all the able-bodied into helping them search.”

“Save…you saved people.” Sam smiled, easily picturing Dean climbing through rubble to rescue people.

“Some. Not enough.” Dean shook his head and looked up through the hole in the roof to the stars while the sirens grew closer outside. He remembered crawling down into the wreckage of one big house, following the cries of a child, even while the other rescuers shouted at him to stay back. The wreckage had been unstable, but he hadn’t cared. The only thought in his head at the time had been ‘what if it was Sam?’ He’d want someone to say screw it and save him, and Dean had done no less. He’d found a little girl and freed her, only to find her parents and big brother all crushed beneath the walls around her. Dean didn’t think he’d ever forget that image as he crawled back out with her sobbing in his ear. There’d been far too many people beyond anyone’s help.

“Did g-good,” Sam muttered.

Dean felt his brother become heavier against him. “Hey! No, you don’t. Stay awake! Sam!” He gave him a shake, careful to keep his hand in place and not let fear choke him. “Sammy?”

“M’ere.” Sam mumbled into his brother’s neck. “Doesn’urt so much…now.”

“Not making me feel better here, dude.” Dean wished the sirens would hurry the hell up and get there already. “How about you talk to me?” He slid his hand from Sam’s shoulder to the center of his chest so he could feel his heart thumping under his palm and tried not to pay attention to the blood he could still feel oozing warmly beneath his other hand. “Sammy?”

“’Bout….what?” Sam was fighting the pull back into sleep. He knew he needed to stay awake, and he could feel Dean’s heart beating frantically against his back. For all his voice was calm, Dean was scared for him. That gave him a small surge of adrenaline that helped him open his eyes a crack at least.

“Anything,” Dean shrugged and kept his voice light; he didn’t want to worry his brother. “Gimme some Latin. Gotta do something to take our minds off being stuck in a bad Towering Inferno remake.”

Sam chuckled, or tried to, but it became a cough, and he wrapped both hands desperately around Dean’s arm across his chest as he struggled to breathe through it.

“Easy, Sammy. Just…take it easy.” Dean held him tightly, wincing at the tight grip Sam had around his forearm. The cough finally weakened and left Sam gasping against him. “Sam?”

“P…present,” Sam managed after a moment. He opened his mouth to say something more, but he was just done. What little energy he’d been holding on with was gone with the cough. His eyes closed without his permission, and he let the darkness suck him under.

“No, no, no. Sam! Come on. Sam!” Dean felt him go limp as Sam’s hands dropped away from his arm. “No, please. Sammy, wake up!” He shook his brother. “Dammit, don’t you give up on me!” He could feel Sam’s heart beating beneath his hand, and Dean focused on that to keep him from panic. He put his chin back on Sam’s head and held him tighter. He found himself angrily blinking back tears that came unbidden to his eyes. It couldn’t end like this. It just couldn’t. Not after he and Sam had just reconnected after so long apart.

“Hello? Anyone in here?”

Dean jerked in surprise as the voice echoed up the stairs. “HEY! Up here!”

“How many of you up there?” The man’s voice yelled again.

“Just two! We need a medic!” Dean’s fear grew as Sam failed to react to him shouting. “My brother’s bleeding and unconscious! You gotta get us down now!”

“Ok, sir! I’m gonna need you to stay calm! We’ll have you out in no time!”

Dean settled back with Sam against his chest. “They’re coming, kiddo. Just hold on a little longer.” He held on to his little brother and listened to the sounds of rescue workers below them, trying to let relief quell the fear. The fear won out when, twenty minutes later, there was a loud crashing boom from below, shouts of warning, and the landing he and Sam sat on suddenly tipped slightly down into the stairwell.

“Shit!” Dean yelled. He wedged one foot against the remaining section of railing to keep them from sliding. “What the hell are you guys doing down there?”

“Sir? Can you tell me your name?”

“Dean, dammit! Now get us down!” Dean yelled back angrily.

“Dean. We’re going to have to try something else.” The man’s voice was laced with regret and concern. “We are going to get you out. I promise.”

“Why do I sense a ‘but’ in there?” Dean hissed in a breath as the landing shook again. “Whatever you’re gonna do, you better do it fast!”

“Just sit tight, Dean!”

“Sit tight. Right,” Dean growled. He eased Sam’s head out from under his chin to get a look at him and grimaced; Sam was pasty white, his skin cool with blood loss, and his breathing was shallow. “Sammy?”

Dean looked up through the gap in the roof as he heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter’s blades thumping closer through the night. A feeling of foreboding settled over him. “No…way…in hell.”

“Dean? Ok, we’re about to get you two out of here!”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean groaned loudly and let his head thump into Sam’s hair.

“You two just stay as still as you can up there! The rescue chopper is going to lower a man down to you.”

Dean ducked over his brother as the helicopter glided into position and air blasted down through the stairwell swirling dust and debris all around them. “This is a bad idea!”

Everything seemed to go in a dizzying blur with the rescuer sailing down, getting Sam hooked up, and having to watch his brother pulled up through the air. Then the worse issue of having to clip himself to the flying deathtrap after being loudly assured from above and below that him climbing down wasn’t an option. Dean had allowed himself to be pulled up into the air, and, a moment later, their landing had collapsed into the stairwell in a cloud of dust. He’d done his level best not to scream like a girl as he was hoisted out into the warm night and then pulled into the chopper’s cabin where two men were hovering over his brother.

Dean sat now in a hospital room beside his brother’s bed and shook his head. “Good thing you were out cold, Sammy.” He chuckled softly as he smoothed dark hair from Sam’s forehead. “You’d never have let me live that chopper ride down.” He frowned as Sam’s head turned into his hand and stood to lean over the bed. “Sammy? You waking up?” It had been five hours, two transfusions, and a minor surgery since they’d been pulled from the ruined building. He was anxious for Sam to wake up so his world could right itself again. “Sam. Up and at ‘em, tiger.”

Sam opened his eyes and blinked up at the white ceiling in confusion as he tried to remember where they were. “Dean?” He winced and moved a hand to his side, trying to raise his head.

“Hey. Hey, don’t. Lie back.” Dean pushed gently on his brother’s shoulder until he gave up with a little sigh. “You remember what happened?”

“Uh…Towering Inferno?” Sam asked, puzzled and looked over to watch a grin spread across Dean’s face.

“Close enough.” Dean eased a hip onto the edge of the bed. “Ghoul got a lucky shot in. Earthquake.” He shrugged and picked up the morphine button lying next to his brother’s hand, pushing the button with a smirk. “Took them a couple hours to get us out.”

“Must have been fun.” Sam let his eyes fall closed, feeling the hit of good painkillers in his system. “Carrying me…all the way down.”

Dean snorted. “Took some maneuvering with your sasquatch ass.”

Sam nodded sleepily. “Good thing they didn’ use a helicopter.”

Dean choked on a cough and shook his head when Sam cracked an eye at him. “Still choking on dust. Go back to sleep.” He ignored Sam staring at him and gave him a glare. “Sleep. I’d like to get out of this place sometime this week.”

“You’re grumpy,” Sam chuckled softly and started to drift back to sleep.

Dean smirked fondly and dropped a hand onto his brother’s shoulder. “Yeah, and you’re a pain in the ass.” He rolled his eyes.

“Jerk,” Sam’s soft reply was a bare whisper muddled in sleep and made Dean laugh.

“Bitch.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	4. For mb64

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For mb64 - I would like something fun and happy- Weechesters at the beach/pool and Dean helps Sammy learn to swim.
> 
> A/N: Yay! Wee!chesters! :D So, Sam is 4 and Dean is 9. Actually Sammy’s almost 5, not 4.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

John Winchester leaned back on his lawn chair and tried to relax. What he really wanted was to be on a job, hunting the thing that had murdered his wife, or anything else for that matter, but his precious Impala was in the shop waiting on parts. Inactivity didn’t do good things for his frustration level. That coupled with his two boys running in circles around him on the beach with Dean yelling and Sam screeching in that pitch only little boys could reach…knocking himself out with a hammer was starting to sound like a plan.

“BOYS!” John bellowed and smiled in satisfaction as they both screeched to a halt in front of him, breathless. “You need to find something else to do, something that makes less noise. Now.”

Dean sighed and pulled his little brother in under his arm. “Yes, sir. Come on, Sammy.” Dad was always touchy, but having the car out of commission made him grumpier than normal, and the little bundle of energy that was his baby brother could piss him off just walking into the room some days. Dad didn’t know how long they’d be there, but Dean hadn’t minded so much when they’d set up in the little beach house in California.

Sam dug his heels into the sand as his brother pulled him toward the surf. “Nuh-uh. Can’t swim, Dean!”

Dean grinned down at him. “Gonna fix that, midget.” He picked Sam up so he couldn’t refuse and settled him awkwardly on a hip. “Can’t have a Winchester doesn’t know how to swim.”

“Can too.” Sam argued, eyeing the waves fearfully. They looked too big.

“No can do, tiger,” Dean smiled at him. “Uncle Bobby made me promise I’d teach ya’ while we’re here. You don’t want me to break my promise, do ya?”

Sam frowned as he stared at his brother. “You made a promise?” Dean nodded and Sam’s frown deepened. “Like…cross your heart kinda promise?” Dean nodded again and Sam groaned. “Shit.”

Dean laughed and sent a look back at their father. “Watch the mouth, Sammy. Dad hears that, he’ll kill us.” He hitched his little brother higher as he waded into the surf. Sam didn’t weigh much of anything really and Dean was tall for his nine years. “Ready, kiddo?”

“M’not a kid,” Sam said irritably as Dean tunneled a hand into his mop of dark hair. “I’m almost five Dean, geez.” He shoved Dean’s hand out of his hair. “Means I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s grin turned mischievous. “Guess you’re big enough then!” He took Sam under his arms and tossed him through the air and out into the surf, grinning more widely as Sam screeched and then dropped under the water.

“DEAN!” John’s shout brought him around. “Stop trying to drown your brother!”

Dean laughed and splashed out to where Sam’s head had emerged and he was thrashing wildly. “Yes, sir!” He waded into the deeper water and let Sam latch on to him. “Take a breath, Sammy,” he laughed.

“You’re a jerk!” Sam yelled and spluttered water angrily even as he wrapped his arms around his big brother’s neck in a vice grip. “That was mean!”

“Was not.” Dean chuckled. “This is though!” He bent and ducked his and Sam’s heads under the water and then back up again, laughing as Sam spit water at him. “Can’t be afraid of the water, kiddo.”

That stung Sam’s pride. “Am not afraid!” His already deep-seated need to make Dean proud of him, even when he was being a jerk, won out finally and Sam loosened his grip around his neck and let his legs swing free in the water. “Don’t leggo!” He gasped, suddenly afraid as he looked into Dean’s eyes.

“I gotcha, Sammy,” Dean said surely, and took Sam’s wrists in his hands, pulling them away from his neck. “You can do this. It’s easy. Now, kick your legs.” He ducked his head and closed his eyes as Sam’s frantic kicking threw water over them. “Dude! Stop!”

“You said kick!” Sam gave him a disgusted face. “I kicked.”

“Not like that.” Dean rolled his eyes and thought for a second. “Like, um…like scissors. One leg and then the other.”

Sam thought about it for a moment, picturing how scissors moved in his head, and then nodded. He alternated waving one leg and then other behind him, grinning with surprise when he realized he was actually pushing at Dean. “I’m doin’ it!” He kicked harder. “Am I swimmin’?”

“Almost.” Dean watched his little brother’s legs, catching his rhythm, and then started moving his arms through the water. “Make cups with your hands.” Sam gave him a confused look and then smiled, figuring it out. “That’s it!” Dean let his own legs float up from the bottom, and Sam’s momentum haltingly pushed them through the water. He let Sam windmill his arms for another minute and then let his little brother go, treading water alongside him. “You’re doin’ it, Sammy!”

“I’m swimming!” Sam laughed, straining to keep his head above the water as he paddled and the waves raised him up and down. “Dee…Dean I’m doin’ it!”

Dean grinned and laughed, watching carefully as Sam doggy-paddled in a wide circle around him. His brother’s ridiculous floppy hair was hanging so heavy in his eyes it was a wonder he could see at all. “Head up, kiddo.”

Sam kept paddling and kept his eyes on his brother. He really wanted to push his hair out of his eyes but was afraid if he stopped, he’d sink. His arms and legs were tiring and he wanted to get out, but he was enjoying the look on his big brother’s face, the pride shining there, and he didn’t want to ruin it.

“You’re a natural, Sammy!” Dean splashed water over his brother’s head, trying to knock the hair out of his eyes but only succeeded in making him splutter indignantly.

“Knock it off, Dee!” Sam gasped, breathing heavily.

“Ok. Ok.” Dean chuckled and reached out, plucked Sam around the waist, and pulled him in. It was obvious the kid was tiring, but he just kept swimming and that made him grin more widely. “You were awesome, Sammy.”

“Yeah?” Sam looked up at Dean as his arms settled around his big brother’s neck again and grinned at the praise even while he gasped for air and smiled widely.

Dean nodded happily and kicked harder to hold both himself and Sam up. “You kicked ass, little bro…” He broke off on a gasp as something grabbed one of his legs and saw Sam’s eyes go wide in fear as they were both pulled under. Dean growled under the water, blinded by bubbles and sand. He felt Sam’s hands clench on his neck and Dean kicked fiercely. His leg was freed as his other connected solidly with something. He pushed for the surface and brought Sam up with him.

“Dee!”

“Ok, I gotcha!” Dean held on to his coughing brother and pulled for the shore. “DAD!” he yelled, and spun back as something large broke the surface behind them and then stared in shock as their father emerged from the water with a hand over his nose. “Dad?”

John rolled his eyes and winced, holding his throbbing nose, realizing too late his mistake in trying to sneak up on his hunter-in-training son, even for fun. Dean had landed a solid kick. “Last time I try to play with you two in the water!”

“Holy shit, Dad! I’m sorry.” Dean groaned as the adrenaline of fear faded and Sam started to laugh in his ear.

“Dad scared you,” Sam said between laughs and squealed as Dean dunked him.

“Shut up, runt!” Dean glared over at their father.

“Watch your mouth, Ace,” John laughed and reached over, prying Sam from his brother’s grip.

“Eww, Dad! Your nose is bleedin’!” Sam let his father swing him through the water until he was on his back and Dad was swimming for the shore with Dean alongside them. He wrapped his arms around his Dad’s neck and grinned.

“Did not scare me,” Dean said grumpily and waded up onto the beach.

John mussed Dean’s wet hair fondly with one hand and hitched Sam higher on his back with the other as he stood. As much as his nose hurt, he couldn’t fault Dean’s response in protecting his little brother. “You did good, Dean.” Dean looked up at him uncertainly. “I took you by surprise, and you didn’t hesitate. You just reacted. I wasn’t intending this to be a training exercise, or for you to kick me in face, for that matter, but I guess I should have seen it coming,” John said ruefully with a rare smile.

Dean’s bad mood evaporated with the praise and he smiled up at his dad. “Can we have ice cream?”

“Ice cream!” Sam yelled and bounced on his dad’s back excitedly. “Can we, Dad? Pleeeeease?”

John snorted and winced, regretting it. He knelt and swung Sam down, then grabbed his towel and held it to his nose. “After my nose stops bleeding, yes, we can get ice cream. Dean, go clean up and take your brother with you.”

“Yes, sir!” Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him along at a run toward the little house. John watched them go, a hint of a smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched his boys enjoying just a normal childhood moment for a change and decided that it wouldn’t be SO terrible if he had to wait another couple days for the car to finish being repaired.  
  
Dean picked Sam up as they reached the door, shoving his hair out of his eyes and grinned. “Proud of ya’, kiddo.”

Sam wriggled happily in his brother’s arms as they dripped through the house to their room. “Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah, runt?” Dean set Sam down and started pulling clothes out of the drawers between their beds.

“Can I learn how’t’a fly next?” Sam grinned up at him, completely serious.

Dean stared, opened his mouth, closed it, and then firmly shook his head. “No way in hell, Sammy. We…are never flyin’. Period.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	5. For judyann

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For judyann - So season 8. Beginning of season when things aren't as good. The boys are in the car arguing (can be about Amelia or Benny or both) and because of the arguing they get into a car accident. Sam gets the worse of it. Want it to be that Dean remembers how much his brother means to him. So guilt and lots of brotherly bonding would be good!
> 
> A/N: Alright! Some angsty-brotherly bonding coming up! We’ll set it post 8x05 “Blood Brother”. That should suit your prompt nicely. :D For obvious reasons this will have to be considered AU as it took them another eight? Episodes to get their heads out of their asses about Amelia and Benny. LOL Enjoy!

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam stared out the window with his teeth clenched so hard it was making his jaw ache. He understood why Dean was angry with him; he did. But what he couldn’t handle was his brother’s complete refusal to understand why he hadn’t looked for him. It was like Dean wasn’t even listening and only hearing what he wanted to hear. The tension in the car was thick enough he could have cut it with a knife. Coloring all of it was his own anger and hurt that Dean would trust, not just another person, but a vampire, over him. Throughout his life, despite all the crap they had been through, it had always come back to the two of them having each other’s backs, and it shook the foundation of who he was to have that rug stripped out from under him. After all the lectures and the pain from Ruby to Amy, demon blood…he couldn’t even begin to think how to process the fact that Dean had come back from Purgatory and somehow left him behind in favor of a vampire.

“You gonna talk to me or keep starin’ out the window?” Dean growled angrily.

“What do you want me to say, Dean?” Sam asked in a voice equally as tense and he didn’t look over.

Dean snarled wordlessly under his breath. “You know, I can drop you off somewhere if that’s what you want.” It was stabbing him in the gut knowing his little brother, the brother he had literally jumped into Hell for, had abandoned him for a damn skirt, for some crappy attempt at an apple-pie life, while he’d been fighting for his life through blood and bone and horror every damn day for a year.

“You want me to leave?” Sam was startled into looking over at him as a weight dropped into his stomach. “Do you really…you really hate me that much?” It was little more than a whisper.

“I don’t hate you, Sam, but I’m not gonna do this emo crap of yours. _You_ left _me_.” Dean tightened his hands on the wheel until his knuckles were white with strain. “How do you expect me to be ok with that? How’m I supposed to trust you?”

“I’m your brother, dammit!”

Dean snorted derisively at that. “Yeah, well, I found a betterbrother who’s spent the last year proving to me that he’ll come no matter what. Where were you, huh?”

Sam flinched back as if struck. “How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t know what happened to you?” His voice rose with the sick feeling in his stomach. “I thought you were dead, Dean! I thought you were in heaven, away from all this crap! Benny’s a vampire! How many times…how many times have you beat my ass for being naïve enough to trust a monster?”

“This is different!” Dean shouted back and turned a glare on him. “He’s different, and if you weren’t so damn stubborn, you’d see it!”

“Me! Stubborn? Are you kidding?” Sam thumped back into his seat in frustration. “You won’t even _listen_ to me!”

“Oh, I’ve listened, Sam!” Dean was breathing heavily and having to fight the urge to just stop the car and pound his brother’s face into burger meat. “You can’t rationalize this away. Not this time. I needed you, and you were too busy getting a piece of ass to give a damn!”

“That’s not true!” Sam yelled and met his brother’s rage-filled eyes. He looked away and reared back in the seat reflexively. “DEAN!”

Headlights glared in through the Impala’s windshield, blinding them. Dean had only a moment to realize he’d ignored the road in favor of his temper before the world turned upside down in a crash of metal and glass.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean groaned his way awake, and it took him a moment to realize he was hanging upside down in his seat with the steering wheel against his chest. “Fuck.” He kicked his legs to free himself and slumped down onto the roof. “Ow…dammit. Sam?” He wiped blood out of his eyes and looked over to the passenger side. Only his brother’s legs were still in the car, and from the angle, it was impossible for Dean to see any more than that. “Shit!” Dean scrambled to climb out the shattered driver’s side window, cutting his palms on the shards of glass and ignoring the pieces that embedded themselves in his knees. Panic had overtaken his world. He needed to get around the car and see if his brother was still alive. Dean staggered to his feet, using the undercarriage of the car to guide him. He glanced up to the road, seeing the trail of damage up the embankment beside them; and, at the top, a mini-van stood with smoke pouring from under the hood.

“Sammy?” Dean stumbled around the front of the car, trying hard not to think about all the damage he was going to have to fix and went to his knees when he saw his brother’s head and shoulders lying stretched out from the window on the wet ground. Sam’s face was a mask of blood, and his left arm glistened with it around a large shard of embedded glass, and he couldn’t tell if he was even breathing. “Oh, God,” Dean breathed. He crawled over to him and put a trembling hand to Sam’s neck. Dean’s head dropped in abject relief as he gusted out a breath. “Oh, thank God.” Sam’s heart beat beneath his fingers, weaker than he liked but there.   
  
“Sammy?” He ran a hand through his brother’s now ridiculously long hair and found a knot behind his ear that bled sluggishly. Dean felt along his right arm, finding it sound, and moved on to his left. As he pressed above the elbow, Sam suddenly shot awake on a strangled cry at the same moment Dean pressed near the large piece of glass embedded deeply in his bicep.

“Easy! Easy! Sam!” Dean pressed his brother’s shoulder back while trying to keep his arm stationary. “Lie still, ok?”

“D…Dean?” Sam gasped for air and blinked, trying to bring his brother into focus. “What happened? What…”

Dean kept Sam’s left arm firmly pinned into the mud. “Sam, stop. Just…stop moving!” Sam’s eyes snapped up to his and Dean watched as that innate trust his brother had always had in him slid into them and Sam stilled, giving him a short nod. Dean swallowed hard at that. “Ok. I’m gonna take a look. Don’t move.” Sam nodded again, and Dean bent over his arm. He pulled carefully at the sleeve of the jacket around the glass, gently tearing it open more. “Gonna need a new jacket, dude.”

Sam gritted his teeth as white hot pain flared in his arm and closed his eyes. “Awe…awesome,” He gasped.

Dean hissed in sympathy. “Sorry, buddy. Almost.” It took longer than he liked to tear a big enough hole in the jacket and shirts until he could finally see, and when he did, he groaned and felt a new stab of concern in his gut. “Ok. I, uh…this needs to stay in for now.”

“No. Out…get it out,” Sam’s mind was in a fog, unable to remember why he was on the ground, why his arm hurt, or why his brother’s face was covered in blood. He couldn’t focus on anything but the desperate need to make the pain stop. “Please!”

“Stop. Stop!” Dean pinned Sam’s shoulder as he started to thrash, terrified he’d shift the shard of glass the wrong way. “Sammy!” He put his other hand to Sam’s head, cupping the side of his face and waited for pain-filled, frantic hazel eyes to meet his. “That’s it. Come on, take it easy.”

Sam swallowed hard after a moment and nodded, closing his eyes again and rolling his head into his brother’s hand as he had done since childhood when in need of comfort. “Sorry.”

Dean blinked furiously at the rush of emotion from that one gesture as his brother’s head rested heavy in his hand. After everything they’d said to each other…after the things he’d said…Sam still trusted him like this. “You’re gonna be ok, Sammy. I need you to listen. You do that?” Sam’s head nodded slowly in his hand and Dean smiled. “Alright. The glass…it’s close to the artery. If I take out, you could bleed out.”

“That’d be…bad,” Sam managed and got his eyes open again. There was nothing but naked fear on Dean’s face even though he smiled to try and hide it.

“Right.” Dean laughed softly. “So we’re gonna leave it in ‘til we get to a hospital. I’m gonna pack something around it. I need you to stay still while I do that. Alright? You with me?”

“Don’t…don’t move. Got it.” Sam nodded and gave him a pained smile. “Go on.”

Dean made himself leave Sam lying there and got to his feet, staggering through the cold mud to the trunk. “Damn, baby. You’re a mess,” he said softly as he got a good look at the Impala and her partially caved-in roof. Much as it pained him, Dean kicked open the trunk. It thumped open five or six inches before thumping into the mud. “Damn.” He dropped to his knees, shivering at the cold and reached up and in. It took him a minute to find what he was looking for, his duffel, and then he cursed loudly when there wasn’t enough room to pull it out.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean growled and focused instead on finding the zipper and opening it.

“Dean?” Sam heard the frustration in his brother’s voice and rolled his head, trying to see him.

“Don’t you move, Sammy!” Dean shouted back. He felt the bulk of the first-aid kit and tugged, pulling it free from the trunk and then grabbed a couple of his tee shirts as well. He bundled it in his arms and went quickly back to his brother. Sam, true to his word, hadn’t moved his left arm so much as an inch. “That’s my boy. How you doin’, kiddo?”

Sam shook his head. “All…alright.”

Dean smirked and opened the first-aid kit. “Get this packed up, we can get you outta here.”

Sam blinked up into the night sky, looking at the stars. “You try…try the phones?”

“No cell service here.” Dean reminded him. They’d travelled this stretch of road too many times in the past; it was a dead zone for twenty miles. “This is gonna hurt. Don’t move.”

“Kay.” Sam nodded and slammed his eyes shut again as Dean carefully lifted his arm. He tried to focus on counting the frantic beats of his heart instead of the agony in his bicep as Dean worked.

“Breathe, Sammy,” Dean coached softly as he used a bandage to strap his folded shirts around the blade of glass. When he was finished, he set his brother’s arm back down and put a hand on Sam’s neck. “Sam?” He was clammy with sweat and breathing a little too fast but he opened his eyes and met Dean’s.

“Please…tell me you’re done?” Sam’s voice was hoarse with pain and he fought tears of relief as Dean nodded. He looked over at his arm. The sight of the blood-stained glass standing in his arm like an exclamation point made him want to move and pull it out. He looked away and sucked in a breath to steady himself.

Dean scrubbed at the drying blood on his face with a clean piece of bandage. “I’m gonna go check on the idiot who hit us. Maybe his car’s still working. You stay still.”

Sam grabbed at Dean with his right arm. “Wait…don’t…”

“Easy, Sam.” Dean clasped a hand around Sam’s wrist. “I’m gonna be right back. I’m just going up the hill for a minute, ok?” There was an odd sort of fear in Sam’s eyes. “Promise, dude.”

Sam let go with difficulty, settling back with a groan and nodded. “Alright. Just…hurry.” He’d been overcome for a moment with the same dread he’d felt that day when Dean had vanished. He swallowed it back as Dean stood and smiled before turning away.

Dean crawled up the embankment to the road. The minivan still sat where he’d last seen it, still smoking, but now the driver’s side door stood open. “Hello?” Dean called as he reached the top and straightened. “Hey! You alive in there?” He walked unevenly to the van, holding a hand to his aching head and pulled the door open all the way. “Damn.” The driver, a young man in his twenties leaned precariously out of the seat; held in only by his seatbelt. His head was covered in blood from impacting the steering wheel and Dean shook his head at the airbag that had failed to deploy. He leaned in and checked for a pulse, knowing he wouldn’t find one and sighed as he smelled alcohol heavy in the car.

“Thanks a lot, asshole,” Dean said softly. The kid, obviously trashed, had swerved into their lane and Dean had been too distracted to see it coming. “So much for sending you for help.” The minivan’s engine was still running and Dean sighed. “Sorry about this…even if you did almost kill us.” He reached around the dead guy and unbuckled his seatbelt, catching him when he slumped. Dean eased him out and down to the side of the road with a sigh. “Sorry about this. We’ll send someone back for you. You’re a jerk, but you probably didn’t deserve this.” He climbed up into the driver’s seat and made sure the parking brake was on. “Don’t want you rolling away on me.”

Dean left the van running as he went back down the hill on his butt, afraid if he turned it off it wouldn’t start again. “Sammy?” Dean rounded the wrecked Impala and saw Sam’s eyes on him as soon as he appeared. He watched his brother’s head thump back into the mud and suddenly he understood. It hit him like, well, a minivan; Sam had been afraid he wouldn’t come back. He dropped next to him and squeezed the side of Sam’s neck.

“Right here, Sammy,” Dean said gruffly as emotion swam through Sam’s eyes. “We’re gonna get out of here, both of us.”

Sam put his good hand on his brother’s arm and closed his eyes. The relief at seeing him round the car had taken his breath away. That fear that Dean would vanish each time he left his sight was going to take a long time to leave him. “I’m ok.”

“This is the part that’s gonna suck.” Dean kept his hand on Sam’s neck. He realized he’d been avoiding pretty much any contact with anyone, including his brother. and Sam, the big girl, had always responded to touch more than Dean. He gave him that comfort now because he knew how much pain he was about to cause him. “I gotta get you up that hill to the van.”

Sam groaned. “You could knock…knock me out. Wouldn’t argue…this time.” He managed a wavery smirk.

Dean laughed softly. “Don’t tempt me, little brother.” He shifted, standing so he was bent over Sam. “Now, let me do all the work, ok? Wanna keep that arm as still as possible.”

“T-trust me.” Sam gritted his teeth in anticipation of the coming pain. “I don’t wanna move it.”

Dean went to one knee, straddling his brother, slid his hands under his shoulders and used the leverage to pull him up slowly until he was sitting. Sam moaned with the pain as his arm moved, in spite of the care Dean took to keep it stable. “Ok, take a minute,” Dean said softly and let Sam’s head drop under his chin as he breathed heavily. “I gotcha.”

“Sorry. Sorry,” Sam panted while spots danced behind his closed eyes.

“You ready?” Dean asked and got a wordless nod. He slid his left arm around behind Sam’s back and held onto his right shoulder with his other. Despite the dire circumstances, after years of taking care of Sam after hunts gone wrong, the simple act felt as natural and familiar as slipping on his favorite jacket. “Alright. Going up.” He grunted with the effort of pushing to his feet and dragging Sam’s dead-weight with him. They ended standing with Sam slumped against his chest. “Sam?”

“God,” Sam groaned breathlessly. “Ok…I’m ok.” He was sucking in air like a long-distance runner and worked to slow it. “Let’s go.”

Dean nodded. He could feel Sam shaking and turned him carefully, keeping his left hand firm on Sam’s left shoulder to keep him from moving his arm. “Here we go.”

Sam was whimpering softly by the time Dean got them to the top of the hill. He clutched his left arm below the elbow at his side, helping to keep it steady and knew the only reason he was still on his feet was Dean. Every glance at the glass made it hurt more and sapped more of his strength, but Dean’s grip around him remained steady, moving him with quiet words and firm support until finally he was in the passenger seat of the minivan.

“This thing…even m-move?” Sam asked as Dean climbed in behind the wheel.

“Engine’s still running.” Dean shrugged. “We’ll go slow. It only has to get us about twelve miles until we’re in cellphone range again. Easy.” He gave Sam a confident smile. “You just keep that arm still.” He eased the van into motion, feeling relief when it moved, and reached a hand out to rest on the back of Sam’s neck. Dean supposed he could have found a way to stretch Sam out in back, but, in truth, he wanted him where he could keep an eye on him.

“M’sorry,” Sam mumbled suddenly. He leaned back into the pressure of Dean’s hand, afraid it would go away all too soon and they’d be back to taking shots at each other.

“Don’t, Sam,” Dean shook his head, urging the van to a faster speed and spared a quick glance for his brother’s pale face. “This was my fault, dude. I screwed up.”

“Wasn’ talkin’ about…’bout this.” Sam nodded wearily toward his arm and the glass. He rolled his head so he could see Dean and the tight line of his jaw. “Sorry.”

Dean clenched his jaw and knew Sam meant for…well, everything --Amelia, not looking for him, everything. “No.” Dean pushed back the customary flare of anger that had been his constant companion for over a year. He was beginning to understand that he needed to get a handle on it before it cost him everything. It occurred to him then with sickening clarity that, if things had gone just a little differently, Sam would have died with Dean’s last words to him being about how Benny was a better brother than he was. He swallowed hard with guilt at that. As close as he and Benny had been, it would never replace the lifetime he had shared with Sam…the good and the bad. Underneath it all, Sam was his brother…his flesh and blood brother…and it tore at something in Dean that he’d made Sam think he was replacing him.

Dean squeezed his hand on the back of his brother’s neck and took a breath to steady his swirling emotions. “I’m sorry too, Sam.” Dean sighed and relaxed his grip on the unfamiliar wheel even as he tightened his grip on his little brother. “We’ll figure this out, ok?”

Sam nodded and closed his eyes in relief. “We’ll be ok,” he said softly and smiled.

“Yeah. We will.” Dean coaxed more speed out of the van. “We’re good, Sammy. We’re good.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	6. For Kelisem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Kelisem - So, Dean kept in touch with Sam during Sam's first two years at Stanford....what made him stop?
> 
> A/N: I admit, I drew a blank on what to with this when I first looked at it, so I poked my awesome friend and equally awesome author Xenascully for inspiration and this piece became a collaborative effort. Lol   
> So! This is set first season and hopefully is everything you were hoping for. We certainly had fun with it. :D

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean pulled open another morgue drawer and peered inside. “Yech. Don’t think this is our guy.”

“Why?” Sam looked up from the stack of forms he was digging through.

“Still got his head.” Dean smirked and shut the door, moving on to the next. “What kind of coroner doesn’t keep a damn list of who’s in which drawer?”

Sam chuckled. “The small town kind, apparently. Man, this guy’s handwriting is awful.”

Dean snorted and pulled out the tray. “Oh, here we go. Likely candidate.” He tugged it out further, revealing a man’s body covered in a sheet without his head.

Sam set the forms aside and went for a look. “The article said he had a tattoo on his uh…well, near his…”

“Dude, I’m not checking a dead guy’s junk. You do it.” Dean waved an arm over the sheet and stepped back.

“No way!” Sam glared at him. “You found the stupid case. You look!”

“I found the case, means I’m in charge,” Dean said with a grin and backed away toward the door. “I’ll just keep a look-out for ya, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam. Dammit.” Sam groaned and grimaced at the body. He took hold of the edge of the sheet. “You better be the right one.” He lifted the sheet, ignoring the snicker from his brother, and did his best to only look with one eye. He dropped it hastily and backed away rubbing his eyes. “God, ok, yeah; that’s him. That is just…wrong.”

Dean laughed and came back, pulling a silver knife from under his jacket. “Ok. So, we just gotta pierce the heart and this thing stays dead, right?”

Sam nodded and waved a hand. “Knock yourself out.”

Dean slid the silver blade into the dead man’s chest, expertly finding the heart. “And stay down, jackass.” He pulled the blade back out and wiped it clean before pulling the sheet back in place and pushed the body back with a slam of the door. “Oughta be a law against mutant ghouls.” This was their third -- and he hoped final -- time that they’d have to kill the thing.

“Come on, before someone catches us.” Sam held the door open for him.

“Afraid they’ll catch you ogling the dead guy’s family jewels?” Dean grinned and ducked out the door while Sam rolled his eyes.

“Whatever.” Sam pulled the door shut behind them.

They turned a corner, and Dean bumped into a man in a white coat. “Crap. Sorry, doc.” Dean smiled and stepped away.

“Dean?” the doctor said in surprise.

“Say what now?” Dean turned to look at him with Sam at his side. “Do I know you?” He looked carefully at the man’s face. He was older, with a head of curly blonde hair going silver and round glasses. Dean narrowed his eyes as something tickled at the back of his mind.

“You know him?” Sam asked his brother and then put a hand on his shoulder; Dean looked dazed. “Dean? Are you alright?”

The doctor chuckled. “I suppose I’m not surprised you’d have trouble remembering me.”

“I…who are you?” Recognition was flitting at the edges of his memory as the man spoke, and he got the distinct feeling that he didn’t want Sam to know about this guy.

“I’m Doctor Fleinhart. It was…oh, about three years ago now.” He reached over and took Dean’s hand, giving it a shake. “After your accident?”

“Wait. You must have him confused with someone else.” Sam smiled and shook his head. “He wasn’t in any accident.”

The memories struck Dean like a train, literally making him stagger back a step. “Shit.”

“Whoa, ok. He needs to sit. Here.” Dr. Fleinhart took Dean’s arm and pulled him to a chair, pushing him into it.

“Dean?” Sam knelt in front of him and watched his brother blink up at him. “What’s going on?”

“Just a memory flash. He’ll be fine in a moment. You are?” Dr. Fleinhart looked over at Sam curiously.

“I’m his brother.” Sam studied the man. “How do you know him?”

“His…brother?” The doctor looked confused. “I didn’t think…”

“Sammy.” Dean leaned forward and used his brother’s shoulder to push to his feet. “It’s fine. I’m good. Doc, uh…good seein’ ya. Let’s go.”

“Dean, maybe you should…” Sam started, but Dean just pulled him along, leaving the doctor staring after them in surprise.

“We’re going.” Dean’s head was pounding, and he did not want to have this conversation in the middle of a hospital.

“Three years ago,” Sam said as he followed his brother and frowned. “I was at Stanford. What accident, Dean? What happened?” He pulled on Dean’s elbow to stop him at the doors.

“Not here, alright?” Dean barely managed to keep his voice below a yell. “Just…wait, dammit.”

Sam stared after him as Dean slammed out the doors and jogged to catch up. He followed his brother’s angry stalk to the Impala. “Dean, dammit. You need to talk to me. How do you have an accident and I don’t know about it?”

“Get in the car, Sam.” Dean opened his door and slid behind the wheel, then just sat there staring out.

“Two years,” Sam said softly as he climbed in. “This is why you didn’t talk to me all that time, isn’t it? What the hell happened to you? And why didn’t you tell me?”

Dean squeezed his hands on the wheel and closed his eyes. “Me and Dad, we were after this wendigo, um…” He looked around as if seeing things for the first time and snorted. “Couple towns over from here, wow.” He shook his head and leaned back in the seat. “Wasn’t an accident. Dad said big ugly got a lucky shot in and slammed me into a tree,” Dean shrugged. “I don’t remember. I remember pulling into town, and then…then I woke up in the hospital.”

“How long?” Sam asked softly. “How long were you out? Days?”

Dean met his brother’s concerned eyes finally and gave him a lopsided smile as he ran a hand through his hair. “Longer. It was, uh…I was out for a…a year.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open and he stared, shocked speechless for a moment. He couldn’t wrap his mind around his brother being in a coma for a year. “A…a year.” Sam swallowed hard while Dean watched him. “You were…in a coma…for a year. A year?”

Dean shrugged again and smiled. “You know, I was saving that story for the next time I needed to persuade you, you owed me.” He laughed. “Then I forgot.”

“You FORGOT? What the hell, Dean? How do you just forget that?” Sam yelled, unable to keep his temper.

“Well, it WAS a head injury, Sam. That kinda happens.” Dean smirked at Sam’s irate face. “Besides, I was planning on using it as leverage. You should be glad I forgot too.”

“It’s not funny!” Sam shouted and slammed a fist into the dash. “Why the hell didn’t Dad contact me? My brother is in a coma for a YEAR and no one bothers to tell me ‘Hey, you might wanna come see your brother since we’re not sure he’s ever gonna wake up.’?”

Dean snorted and looked away from him as the memories came back. “As far as Dad was concerned, you didn’t care.”

“That’s bullshit! Fucking selfish fucking bastard!” Sam lost it. His brother had been on his damn deathbed and their father had cut him out?

“Hey! Don’t talk about Dad like that!” Dean yelled back, his humor at the whole thing forgotten as the familiar anger with Sam and his attitude toward Dad took over.

Sam glared at him. “Fuck you, Dean! He had NO right to make that decision for me.” He stabbed a finger into his brother’s shoulder. “If that’d been me and he didn’t call you, you’d kill him!   
  
That stung Dean’s temper into rage. “Yeah, Sam? Well, difference is I wouldn’t have left and let that happen in the first place!” His voice echoed in the small space for a second.

The car grew silent as Sam looked away, forcing his gaze out the window with a mixture of anger and regret as the temper was sucked out of him with Dean’s words. His eyes stung with tears he couldn’t stop, even though none of this had been his fault. He’d wanted a normal life. He’d left to try and have that and as much as he knew it could never happen now, he didn’t know it then. He couldn’t have known…

“Dude…” Dean’s voice broke the silence. His own words cooled his temper and he sat, shocked at himself for saying such a thing. His voice was softer now. “Sam? Look…I shouldn’t have said that.” Dean’s tone was filled with regret. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“No. It wasn’t,” Sam whispered in an attempt to hide his current emotional state. He kept his face to the window.

“Are you…” Dean stared hard at the back of his brother’s head. “Sammy, are you crying?”

“Just…shut up.” Sam’s own voice was hoarse with grief. “Goddammit, Dean.”

“I’m sorry.” Dean reached out, his hand hovering over his brother’s shoulder and suddenly wasn’t sure Sam would even want him to touch him. “I should never have told you.” He saw Sam’s shoulders jerk.

“Fuck you.” Sam’s head spun back around to look at his brother, no longer caring about the tears tracking down his face. “Fuck all of this!” He shoved the car door open and got out as Dean called his name.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean hit the steering wheel as Sam stomped off across the parking lot. He growled and got out, watching over the roof as Sam stopped and threw a punch at the side of a parked van. He cringed. “Ow. That’s gonna hurt later,” He muttered. Dean sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his aching skull. Memory flashes were officially going on his list of least favorite things, especially when they screwed up his relationship with his brother. He knew exactly what bullshit was flying through Sam’s head right now. His little brother was over there fuming and wondering if his family even wanted him around…ever.

“Dammit.” Dean pushed away from the car and walked across the lot. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the pressure building behind his eyes. Maybe he should have taken a minute to talk to the doctor…Dean stopped and his brows rose. He snorted softly. “I forgot his name…again.” He shook his head and approached Sam cautiously. “Sammy?”

“It’s Sam!” Sam yelled back reflexively.

Dean cringed at his brother’s tear-stained face and the fresh tears joining the old even as Sam glared daggers at him. “Alright, take it easy, would’ja?” He raised both hands in surrender and was glad there was no one else outside to witness their little Oprah moment. “I’m sorry, Sam. I am. I mean it.”

“What about the other year?” Sam asked suddenly, angrily.

“Huh? What…”

“You were in a coma for a year, Dean.” Sam kicked the van’s tire and winced, regretting it as the force travelled up to his hip painfully. “You didn’t contact me for two years. Two.”

Dean groaned. He wrapped a hand around his pounding head and leaned against the van. “I couldn’t remember.”

“Remember what?” Sam bit the words out and wiped roughly at his face.

“You. Dad.” Dean rolled his eyes and instantly regretted that when it drove his headache to another level. “Sammy, I couldn’t remember my own damn name when I woke up, alright?” Most of that year was spotty at best for him. “You remember when I came to get you, I said I’d been on a job down south on my own?” Sam nodded and Dean smiled. “That was the first time Dad let me out of his sight, and, man, I had to fight him for that.” He snorted and slid down so he was sitting against the van, letting his eyes close and head fall back against it with a thump. “Guess he decided I was finally together enough to take off and leave me, huh?”

Sam did remember that conversation and that, at the time, he hadn’t understood Dean’s sudden defensiveness when he’d commented about Dad letting him hunt alone. Now it made sense. The anger cleared enough finally for him to look at his brother, and, when he did, he didn’t like what he saw. Dean was pale and his eyes were pressed shut in what looked like pain. “Dean.” Sam knelt next to him. He turned and sat beside Dean, thumping his back into the van so their shoulders touched.

“Dad didn’t know if I’d remember you,” Dean said suddenly, softly. “I think…I think once I did come around, he didn’t want you to…” He twitched his shoulders in a shrug. “I think he didn’t want to put you through that.” Dean opened his eyes and rolled his head to look at him. “Sam, you were out. Whatever else you think, dude, Dad was…he was proud.”

Sam snorted in disbelief but didn’t say anything. His tears were finally drying and the anger leaving as he started to truly consider what Dean had gone through with no memory, and then when he _had_ remembered… “Do you ever think…what it’d be like if you never remembered? You know…me, us, this life.” Sam asked quietly and watched his face. “You could have been Joe America somewhere putting cars together.”

“No way,” Dean shook his head and gave Sam a glare of his own. “It wouldn’t have been real, Sammy. This is who I am. I’m your brother. And this?” He waved a hand to indicate their lives in general. “This is all I want. You and me and my baby on the road, hunting things.”

“Saving people.” Sam added with a small smile.

Dean nodded and quirked a brow at him. “Family business, Sammy.”

Sam stared at the ground between his feet, thinking. “I still wish you’d told me.” He blew out a breath. “That Dad had told me. My leaving NEVER meant I stopped caring about you.” He glanced over at Dean quickly and then away again. “You’re my brother, Dean. Something happens to you…I need to know.”

“This gonna be a new rule?” Dean smirked, sensing that the tension had been broken and his brother had forgiven him. Sam was like that. Dean thought it made him the best of them. Where he and Dad would hold a grudge ‘til hell froze over, Sam could forgive anyone almost anything. He smirked, except for Dad; his little brother’s one blind spot in the forgiveness department.

Sam nodded. “You end up in a coma, I get a call.” He looked back up at Dean and smiled. “Now, how about you give me the keys and I drive?”

Dean snorted. “You drive my baby?” He shook his head as Sam stood and took his arm, pulling him to his feet. “You punched the dash. Driving privileges revoked, Sammy.”

“Your head’s splitting. Gimme the keys.” Sam put a hand out imperiously, brows raised, and waited.

In the interests of not blowing their newfound peace, Dean groaned and took out the keys. “I’m only doing this ‘cause I could use a nap. Not ‘cause you’re right.”

Sam plucked the keys from his hand with a chuckle. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.” He turned and headed across the lot to the Impala.

“How’s your hand?” Dean asked and grabbed his brother’s right hand, whistling at the swollen, red knuckles. “I’m sure the van had it coming.”

“Shut up.” Sam pulled his hand away and rolled his eyes. “Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean laughed and opened the passenger door. He dropped into the seat, pulled the door closed and let his head fall back to the seat. It was still throbbing in time with his heart.

Sam climbed behind the wheel and started the car. He looked over at Dean and sighed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You were right where you should’a been, dude.” Dean smiled, not opening his eyes. “Wasn’t your fault, and you bein’ there wouldn’t have changed anything.” He rolled his eyes under his lids and mentally kicked himself for what he was about to say. “Dad told me, after I remembered finally…he said the first word I spoke when I woke up was…it was ‘Sam’.” It killed him admitting that, but, as he glanced over at his little brother, he decided it was worth the embarrassment for that ridiculous smile on his face. “Don’t go all girly on me, dude. If I’d had to go when I woke up, my first word would’a been piss.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The end._


	7. For Sparkiebunny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Sparkiebunny - maybe a teenchester fic? With Sam between 14 and 16, Dean 18-20? I love me some hurt/herioc!Sam, especially when he's saving Dean. So I'd love to see a story in which Sam either takes a bullet for Dean or pushes Dean out of the way and gets knifed or something. Serious injuries, rush to hospital, brush with death, all that good stuff.
> 
> A/N: Oh let’s go with 16 and 20 for Sam and Dean. :D One story where Sam gets a little more lead in his diet, coming up! Lol

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

“This is crap,” Dean groused as he pulled up in front of the old, brown house. “We should be at the cemetery with Dad salting and burning the old guy.” He sighed as he got out of the car and looked over at his little brother. “Instead he sends us on the damn milk run.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I could be studying for my exam tomorrow, you know, but I’m here.” He followed his brother to the trunk and took the iron rod he handed him. “But someone does have to make sure Mr. Deering’s safe until the ghost is gone.”

“We could have just called the guy.” Dean grumbled and took his own iron rod and his homemade EMF meter as well and shut the trunk. “Come on, geek.”

“He’s agoraphobic, Dean.” Sam sighed and climbed the steps to the door. “He can’t leave his house. You know that.”

“He’d leave if I carried his ass out.” Dean grinned at Sam and knocked loudly on the door. The old guy had called their Dad days ago when a spirit started flinging things around his house and, being an old shut-in, he had refused to leave and go somewhere safe while they sorted out the problem. Turned out his renovation of the cellar had pissed off the spirit of his stepfather who’d built the house and never much liked him to begin with.

“So, what do you think? An hour maybe for Dad to dig him up and send him on?” Sam rang the doorbell while Dean knocked and frowned when Mr. Deering didn’t answer.

“Half hour. Tops,” Dean said firmly and smirked. “You know no one clears a grave faster than Dad except us.”

Sam smiled at the indirect praise and nodded to the door. “He’s not answering.”

Dean turned the handle, brows rising when it opened. “Guess we go find him. Come on, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam.” Sam rolled his eyes and hefted the iron rod in his hand. “Mr. Deering?”

“You hear that?” Dean pointed toward the back of the house and the soft sounds of music he could hear.

“Yeah.” Sam looked at the EMF meter in his brother’s hand questioningly, but Dean shook his head and shrugged. “Think it’s coming from the basement door.” He went down the hall and pulled it open. “Lights are on. Mr. Deering! Are you down there?”

Dean cocked his head and looked down the stairs. “That’s some old time jazz he’s got playing. Deering! Come on, man!” He started down the stairs with Sam at his back. “I don’t like this.”

“Maybe he just can’t hear us over the music.” Sam kept his eyes up the stairs behind them, alert in case the spirit decided to sneak up on them.

Dean reached the bottom and stared. “Dude. Check this place out.” He stepped into a large room lit by warm, orange lights. The walls were lined with antique guns that looked like they’d been picked up out of a civil war film. A massive oak desk stood near the door.

“Whoa.” Sam smiled and shook his head. “Serious collector.” He frowned and grabbed Dean’s elbow. “Dean.” Sam pointed to the side of the desk where a booted foot was sticking out from behind it.

“Ah, hell. Stay.” Dean gave him a shove toward the door and walked around the desk. Mr. Deering lay in a pool of his own blood, facedown and very much dead.

Sam edged around the room while Dean knelt beside the man. “How’d he die?”

Dean pulled the old man over onto his back and whistled softly. “Whoa. Looks like someone shot him.” Deering’s chest was a mess of red with several ragged holes in his shirt. He jumped as the EMF meter went off and he pulled it up, watching the needle swing into the red. “Got company.”

Sam looked over his shoulder at his brother and gasped. Three of the muskets on the wall behind him were floating soundlessly in the air and all moved to point down at his brother’s unprotected back. “DEAN!” Sam shouted and threw himself across the open space. He slammed into Dean as the guns fired and the smell of burning powder and sulfur filled the air.

“Sam!” Dean pushed out from under his brother and grabbed his shoulders as more guns began to move on the wall. “Come on! Move!” He pulled Sam with him around the desk and behind it. “Sammy? You ok?”

Sam gasped in a breath and shook his head. “N…no. Dean.” He pulled a hand off his chest and held it up.

Dean’s heart stuttered in his chest as he looked at Sam’s blood-soaked hand. He grabbed it and pulled his brother into his lap. “Sammy? No, no, no.” His chest was quickly staining red. Dean yanked his jacket open and stared horrified at the three bullet holes in the front of his hoodie. He felt Sam sag against him as the shaggy head dropped back onto his shoulder as the pain and shock took hold.  
  
“Sammy, hold on, ok? Don’t you give up on me!” Dean fumbled his cellphone from his pocket and dialed their Dad. He risked a glance over top of the desk and saw that more of the guns were rattling themselves loose from their mountings.

“Dean. Little busy here.” John’s irritated voice made Dean close his eyes in relief.

“Dad! You need to shag ass and burn this ghost!” Dean leaned over his brother, watching the pain move through Sam’s hazel eyes. “We’re in the basement and Sammy’s hurt and we’re about to get shot full of holes! Deering’s dead.” Another volley of shouts deafened him and Dean hunched close over his brother as the bullets ricocheted off the top of the desk above them.

“Dean? DEAN!”

“I’m ok but you gotta hurry!” Dean squeezed his brother’s hand. “He’s bleeding bad.”

“One more minute!” John yelled and Dean was left listening to nothing as the line went dead.

“Dad’s on it, Sammy.” Dean told him. He could hear more rattling from across the room and knew the ghost was gearing up another round.

“Hurt…hurts, Dean,” Sam gasped, panting for air through the pain.

“I know, kiddo.” Dean let go of Sam’s hand and shrugged his jacket off. He tore off his flannel and folded it before placing it over the wounds on Sam’s chest and pressing, trying to slow the bleeding. “You stay with me.”

Sam nodded and wrapped his bloody hands around his brother’s arm, needing the contact. “Not goin’…anywhere.”

“Damn straight.” Dean shielded his brother again as a loud, disembodied scream echoed through the house. A moment later there was a clatter and Dean looked up to see all the guns had dropped to the floor. He heaved out a breath. “Dad’s got good timing.” His phone rang and he flipped it open. “Dad! I’m gonna call…”

“Wait for me, Dean.” John said firmly and he was already running back to his truck. “Can’t call an ambulance with a dead body in the basement. We’ll take Sam.”

“Dad!” Dean’s voice rose angrily. “Are you friggin’ kidding me? He’s bleeding bad! He needs help now, not a half hour from now!”

“Dean?” Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s arm, his own worry ratcheting up with his brother’s tone.

“It’s ok, Sammy. Just keep breathin’.” Dean gentled his tone for Sam’s sake.

“I will be there in five.” John jumped into his truck and spun gravel in his haste out of the graveyard. “He’s gonna be fine. You take care of him until I get there.”

Dean snapped his phone closed angrily and bit his tongue on the angry words he had for his Dad; it could wait. “Dad’s on his way, Sam.”

“What’d he…he say to piss you off?” Sam spoke through teeth clenched against the pain and the urge to throw up.

“Nothin’, kiddo.” Dean smiled and pushed the now sweat-damp hair off his brother’s forehead. “We’re gonna get you in the car and outta here in a few minutes, alright?”

“Don’ think I like bein’…bein’ shot.” Sam rolled his eyes up to Dean’s with a wan attempt at a grin.

Dean chuckled softly. “Well, look on the bright side -- you can show the girls your scars. Chicks dig cool scars.” He patted his brother’s shoulder and tried not to think about the blood he could still feel oozing beneath his hand or the warm, wet feeling in the knees of his jeans that meant Sam’s blood was starting to pool beneath them.

“S..sleepy,” Sam said softly and groaned in pain when Dean shook him.

“No! You stay awake! You hear me?” Dean leaned down and glared into glazed eyes. “No sleeping, Sammy. I mean it.” He swallowed back his fear that he was watching his little brother bleed out in his arms and smiled instead. “What’s your exam tomorrow? History, right?” He smirked when Sam nodded shakily. “Ok, tell me.”

“Huh?” Sam frowned in confusion, looking up at him. “You always..sai…said his’trie’s bor…boring.”

Dean tried not to let the panic show on his face as Sam started slurring his words. “Wasn’t boring. Just weren’t enough hot chicks in history class, dude.” He grinned for Sam and pulled him a little closer. “Talk to me, Sammy.”

Dean bent close so he could hear his brother as he slurred and stuttered his way through his history class, smiling and shaking him to get his attention when he needed it. In his head, he was counting the minutes out until finally he heard their father’s steps pounding on the floor above and then he appeared on the stairs.

John skidded to a stop at the bottom. He hadn’t been sure what to expect and the sight of his baby boy covered in blood and gasping weakly for breath almost took his legs out from under him. He staggered to his sons and dropped beside them. He gently brushed his hand over Sam’s forehead. “Hey, Sammy. You ready to get out of here?”

Sam nodded, beyond speech. He was spending every bit of strength he had just to stay awake and not give in to the blackness calling him. He was so tired, but Dean’s face and its barely masked panic forced him to hold on.

Dean glared at his father and said nothing. Being forced to watch Sam bleed and suffer when he could have had him in an ambulance already had done nothing for his temper.

John saw it all on Dean’s face and sighed. “We’re gonna get you up now, tiger,” John smiled for Sam and pried his hands off his brother’s arm. The grip he had made John’s heart clench, as though Dean’s arm were a lifeline keeping him alive. “Dean, get his other side.” There would be time for guilt later, he thought as they pulled Sam’s dead weight up between them and his dark head lolled between his shoulders. “How many times was he hit?”

“Three,” Dean growled as they started up the stairs. “He saved my ass. It should have been me.”

“Stow it, Dean,” John said firmly and urged them into a faster walk as they reached the top of the stairs and headed out of the house. “You can hate yourself and me later.”

“That a promise?” Dean snapped.

“D…Dean.” Sam’s voice was a pained whisper as the angry voices of his Dad and brother drew him back.

“Right here, Sammy.” Dean pulled Sam in against him as they reached the Impala and let his Dad open the back door. He curved a hand around his brother’s neck comfortingly. “We gotcha. Have you in the hospital in no time now.” He slid his brother into the backseat with his father’s help.

“Hospital’s five minutes away. He’s gonna be fine.” John closed the door and gave Dean a shove toward the driver’s side. “I’ll lead the way.”

Dean pulled the back door open again. “No, you can drive. He’s barely holding on as it is. I’m not leavin’ him alone back there.”

“Dean…” John started, but his eldest was already climbing in the back of the Impala and pulling the door shut. “Dammit!” He ran around and slid behind the wheel.

Dean eased behind his brother, settling him against his chest and pressed on the wounds in his chest again to control the bleeding. “Sammy? You in there?” Sam opened his eyes and gave Dean a long, slow blink. Dean snorted. “Ok, Captain Kirk. How about you use words?”

A faint smile played across Sam’s face. “S’Pike. Not…not K…Kirk.” He wheezed in a breath. “S-such…a dork.”

“Says the geek who knew which captain I was talkin’ about.” Dean smoothed the hair from his forehead and kept a tight hold of him as his Dad whipped the Impala around a corner. It struck Dean as he held his brother that, though he’d had the audacity to get taller than Dean was, he was still kind of scrawny; He looked like an over-tall kid with that mop of unruly hair. Dean pulled that hair back to get a better look at his face and hated how pale and bloodless he looked now.

“Stop…” Sam sucked in a breath. It was getting harder to do that. “Stop…starin’ a’me.”

Dean gave a watery laugh, blinking furiously at the moisture building behind his eyes. “Can’t help it, runt. You’re funny lookin’.”

John listened to them in the backseat, glancing at his boys in the rearview mirror and pressed harder on the gas. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering if he’d made a mistake; if he should have let Dean call 911. Would Sam have been safely in a hospital already? He shook his head. No. He’d made the right decision. He knew the response time for emergency vehicles and they wouldn’t have gotten there any faster than he had. John wanted to ask Dean how his brother was doing but he didn’t, afraid the answer would cripple his ability to keep a clear head and drive.

“Open your eyes, Sammy. Come on.” Dean propped his brother’s head up higher against his chest and shivered with fear when Sam made no move. “Sam? Sam!” He shook him and then pressed harder on the wounds, hoping the pain would rouse him, but there was nothing except for the shallow breaths he could just hear if he put his ear down near Sam’s face. “Dad! He won’t wake up!”

“It’s alright, Dean. We’re almost there.” John met Dean’s fear-stricken eyes in the rearview for just a moment and turned back to the road, officially flooring it and hoped no officer was stupid enough to try and pull them over. He squealed the tires around a corner and over a grassy divider in the road, trusting Dean to keep Sam stable as they bumped across to the hospital. The Impala screeched to a halt outside the emergency room doors, and John was out like a shot and running inside.

“Help! I need help! My son’s been shot!” John shouted, frantic. There was a moment of stillness as the nurses stared at him and then a flurry of activity as they broke into motion. He watched a trio of nurses converge on the back of the Impala and pull his sons out. A minute later he had to grab Dean’s arms and hold him back as Sam was whisked away. “Dean. Dean! Let them help your brother.”

Dean stopped fighting his father and let himself be pulled to a chair and shoved down into it. Dean stared up at him with a bleak look on his face that cut right through to John’s heart. “He’s gotta be ok, Dad.”

John sat next to him and nodded. “He will be. He’s gonna be fine.” He’d been stunned speechless as Sam was wheeled past him. His skin was the pasty white of a corpse. He’d seen enough men bleed to death as a Marine to know what that meant. John glanced at the tortured expression on his eldest’s face and kept it to himself.

“Sam’s gonna be pissed,” Dean murmured as he hunched over and dropped his head into his hands. “He’s gonna miss that stupid exam tomorrow.”

John slid an arm across his son’s shoulders and said nothing. There was nothing to say. Now they could only wait and hope.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

It was nearly two hours later before someone other than an apologetic nurse came to talk to them and John surged up from his chair as the doctor, still dressed in surgical scrubs, came to stand in front of them.

“How’s my son, dammit?” John demanded angrily. “I swear, if one more person tells me they don’t know, I WILL take this place apart with my bare hands!”

“Mr. Winchester, please.” The doctor raised his hands in surrender. He was well used to dealing with panicked family members so he smiled reassuringly. “You’re son is alive and out of surgery. He’s in recovery right now, and you can see him shortly. Please, sit? We need to talk first.”

Dean came back into the waiting room with his tenth cup of coffee and stared at the doctor. “Dad?” Dread weighed heavy in his stomach and the coffee fell from his nerveless to fingers to splatter on the floor. “Sammy?” He whispered.

“He’s alive. Dean, he’s alright.” John went to his son and pulled him to a chair, pushing him down into it while he blinked and looked up to the doctor. “He is, isn’t he? Alright?”

“I’m Dr. Alavarez. I performed the surgery on Sam.” He smiled and pulled a chair over so he could sit facing them. “He was very lucky. Whatever guns they used to shoot your son, the bullets were old…antique’s really…and must not have had a lot of firepower behind them. We were able to remove them easily.” He watched the relief flow over both men’s faces and smiled again. “Now, they didn’t do much damage, but Sam has lost a lot of blood.” He paused to make sure they were paying attention. “More than I’m comfortable with. He’s being transfused, and we’ll have to give him several units throughout the night to replace what he’s lost so his body can heal.”

“He’s gonna be alright though? You said he’s alright.” Dean glared at him, still choking on fear. He needed to hear that Sam was safe. “I wanna see him.”

“Dean.” John spoke softly but firmly, and his son subsided with an angry growl. He looked at the doctor.

“Sam should be fine. I just want you to be prepared.” Doctor Alvarez met the father’s eyes solemnly. “Blood loss can be tricky. You got him here quickly, and that works in his favor. I have every faith Sam will come through this. Now, I’ll send a nurse to fetch you as soon as he’s out of recovery. Won’t be long now.”

“Thank you, doctor.” John stood and took his hand. Once the doctor had gone, he sat back beside his son. “Dean, take a breath. He’s alright.”

“I should have called 911,” Dean said angrily. “You didn’t have to sit there with him bleeding in your lap, Dad. He could have died!” His voice had risen with each word until he was yelling as the fear he’d been choking on for hours finally won out.

John shoved him back down into his chair and glared him into silence. “An ambulance wouldn’t have gotten there any faster, Dean, and you know it. The cops would have come, and you’d have been left explaining why the old rich guy was dead on the floor.” He took a breath and reigned in his own temper. “This is not your fault. Now calm the hell down.”

Dean breathed heavily and dropped his eyes from his father’s, pulling his anger back with difficulty. On some level, he recognized that his father was right, but he needed to see his brother before he’d feel alright about any of it. He needed to see Sam.

“Family of Samuel Winchester?”

Dean’s head snapped up, and he lurched to his feet as a nurse came forward and smiled. “Yeah, that’s us. Can we see him now?”

The nurse smiled again and nodded. “I’ll take you to him.” She led them down the hall, wistfully thinking that no family had a right to that many delicious men in one bloodline. “He’s just coming out from the anesthesia, so he’ll be a little groggy. And Dr. Alvarez said there was a detective asking for you.” She stopped at a door and put a sympathetic hand on John’s arm. “We told him he could come back tomorrow and not before. Sam doesn’t need a cop asking him fifty questions right now. Press the call button if you need anything.”

John watched her go and then looked in the door as Dean slid past him and went to his brother’s bedside. He swallowed hard at the sight of his youngest son. There were far too many tubes and wires attached to him. Sam’s skin was still frightfully pale, and John realized he must have been running a fever as he watched Dean pushing sweat-damp, dark hair off his forehead with a gentleness that always surprised him. There were times when he felt like he’d missed something, like now, as Sam’s eyes fluttered open and unerringly fixed on his big brother. When had Dean replaced him as the ‘father’ in his and Sam’s relationship? When had het _let_ that happen and not noticed? John swallowed again, choking back guilt and regret he had no time for, and went in with a smile.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean smiled and rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “How you feeling?”

“Mmf…floaty…kinda.” Sam swallowed, trying to move his tongue around his dry mouth and smiled in gratitude as his Dad leaned over him with a cup.

“Here you go, tiger.” John held the straw for him while Dean held his head up, and Sam drank greedily. “Whoa, slow it down, Sammy. Easy.” He pulled the cup away before Sam could choke himself with the water. He had to remind himself his baby boy was sixteen; right now he looked six, in spite of his surprising height, as he rolled his head into his big brother’s hand and closed his eyes again.

“Tired,” Sam mumbled softly. He forced his eyes open and looked up at his brother. “Sleep now?” It seemed important to him to have his brother’s permission after all of the fighting to stay awake on the frantic trip to the hospital.

Dean chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, Sammy. You can sleep now.” He sat on the side of the bed, keeping his hand on Sam’s neck since his brother didn’t seem interested in taking his head off it anytime soon.

John sighed quietly and brushed a few stray wisps of hair from Sam’s face. “You’re safe now, Sammy,” He whispered. He pulled over a chair and sat beside the bed, watching his sons, and said a silent, prayerful thanks to whatever had watched over them and kept him from losing one or both of them.

Sam’s eyes suddenly snapped open, and he fumbled a hand up to wrap around his brother’s arm. “Dean!” He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

“Whoa! Easy, Sammy. What is it? What’s wrong?” Dean held his head, steadying him and kept him from sitting up as panic danced across his face.

“D’I miss my exam?” Sam stared up at him with wide eyes and frowned as Dean started to laugh. His frown deepened as his Dad joined in. “Wha’?”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and smothered his laughter. He squeezed the side of Sam’s neck and grinned down at him. “Little brother, you are a hopeless nerd.”

“Think you’re gonna need a make-up test, kiddo,” John said with a chuckle and patted his son’s shoulder. “Get some sleep now.”

Sam groaned and closed his eyes again, still holding on to his brother’s arm. “S’okay. Didn’ study ‘nuff anyway.” His voice trailed off and slid into sleep.

Dean smiled and rested his free hand lightly on Sam’s chest over where he knew the bullet wounds were. He looked up in surprise as his Dad’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Dad?”

“I’m gonna go clean up the house,” John smiled at him and then down at Sam. “Take care of your brother while I’m gone.”

Dean snorted. “Like I need to be told that.”

“I know, Ace.” John gave his shoulder a pat and left them there.

Dean watched his Dad walk out of the room and shook his head with a bemused smile. “Dude, you should get shot more often,” He said and looked down at his sleeping brother who was holding his arm like a stuffed animal. “Dad gets almost as girlie as you do.” He yelped as something whacked the back of his head and spun to find his Dad in the doorway smirking at him.

“You ever call me girlie again and we’re gonna have a special training exercise, Ace.” John raised his brows as Dean audibly swallowed and nodded, understanding that his father would whoop his ass without pity. He chuckled and left with Dean’s nervous ‘yes, sir,’ following him down the corridor. “I am not girlie,” John muttered, reassuring himself.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	8. For leahelisabeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Leahelisabeth - maybe DEAN could be de-aged and Sam could be severely injured trying to protect him and then he needs the help of a beautiful stranger (who is actually me) to babysit Dean and nurse him back to health. And maybe he hasn't killed the monster yet because Dean is now 4 and stuff so it attacks again and Sam has to protect me and Dean (because we can't have him lying around like a pussy)
> 
> A/N: This is set anywhere you like in the latter half of season 6 after Sam is re-souled. :D No reason really, I used the fickle finger of fate to choose. Lol

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean eased through the trees with his brother beside him and kept his rifle tucked to his shoulder. “Can’t believe we’re hunting something called a bugbear.”

Sam chuckled. “It’s also called a bugaboo.”

“That doesn’t help me take it seriously, dude,” Dean said and laughed softly.

“It’s killed three people,” Sam added seriously and met Dean’s now grim smile.

“You sure we don’t need anything special to kill this thing?” Dean raised his rifle and Sam shook his head.

“No. Basically, it’s just a bear, a really mean bear with a taste for people and witches like to use them, but…yeah, normal ammo should work.” Sam shrugged. “If it doesn’t, this is going to get real interesting, real fast.”

“That’s comforting.” Dean rolled his eyes. The moonlight was bright enough they weren’t using flashlights, letting their eyes adjust to the natural illumination instead. Flashlights only would make them easy targets in the dark. He froze in mid-step as a whuffling sound came from nearby. He glanced over at Sam and saw him nod. No further communication was necessary, and Dean peeled off to the right, letting Sam take the left. They circled in toward the sound silently.

Sam cut between two trees, seeing the shadow of his brother yards away. He narrowed his eyes. Between them, something large humped up from behind a bush, and Sam could tell its head was turned away, toward Dean.

“Shit,” Sam breathed and picked up his pace, trying to get a bead on it with his rifle as it moved and put a tree between them. He could just make out the long barrel of Dean’s rifle, and it was pointed the wrong way. He sucked in a breath to shout a warning. “Dean!”

Dean crept around the trunk of a wide tree, focused on a rustling ahead of him. He adjusted the butt of the rifle against his shoulder and jumped in surprise as his brother shouted his name. He whipped his head to his left and saw the hulk of the bugbear rise up to tower over him.

“Oh, crap,” Dean groaned. He swung the rifle around, took a step toward it, and his world exploded in a flash of light. He felt himself falling and then consciousness slipped away from him.

“Dean!” Sam looked away as something bright flashed. He blinked furiously to clear the spots from his vision. His brother was nowhere to be seen. He raised the rifle again and started forward, rearing back in surprise as the bugbear lunged up in front of him. Sam fired reflexively, hitting it high in one shoulder as it moved and turned toward something on the ground. Sam moved quickly to the side and gasped, seeing his brother lying face down. “No!” He fired again into its back as the creature bent over Dean. It howled in a fury and swept a long, clawed arm out. It caught Sam in the stomach and sent him sprawling across the ground with a grunt of pain.

Sam pushed up, raised his gun, and fired again. The bullet glanced along the back of the bear’s massive skull. It fell sideways and then lumbered off into the dark forest roaring. Sam hunched over the burning in his stomach for a moment and then made himself move. “Dean.” He got to his feet and staggered toward his brother. He scowled as he neared. Some sort of light lingered around Dean’s body, and, as Sam watched, he seemed to shrink. “Shit! Dean?” Sam dropped beside him and pulled him over onto his back. He leaned away in incredulous shock and just stared. Sam fumbled the flashlight from his pocket and flicked it on shining it down, and his jaw dropped open. It was definitely his big brother on the ground in front of him, but, somehow, Dean had been transformed into what Sam estimated to be his four-year-old-self.

“Dean?” Sam reached a hand out and brushed his fingers over the freckles on the boy’s cheeks with almost a sense of wonder. He knew that face; had seen it many times as he grew up in the pictures his Dad had kept in his wallet. “Oh, my God. How…” His brain refused to accept the reality lying in front of him, and he sat back with a thump.

The sudden burn in his gut made Sam moan. He shined the flashlight on his own stomach as he pulled his shirts gingerly out of the way. His stomach was a bloody mess, shirts ripped from the bugbear’s claws, and four long furrows crawled across his stomach below his ribs. He let his shirts drop and pressed his left arm over the wounds, trying to alleviate the pain. It didn’t help. A roar deeper in the forest jerked his head up. Sam sighed and looked back down at his now…little brother.

“Ok. Can’t stay here.” Sam slung his rifle on his shoulder and leaned over…Dean. He showed no signs of waking up anytime soon. Sam slid an arm under his shoulders and winced at how easy it was to lift his toddler brother up into his arms. He weighed next to nothing, and Sam clutched him to his chest with Dean’s head in the crook of his neck as he struggled to his feet. Dean’s jeans, now a dozen or more sizes too large, slid off his small legs to the ground along with his shoes, and Sam was left wrapping him in his leather jacket.

Sam smirked. “You’re never gonna live this down.” He walked, staggering every few steps as the wounds in his stomach protested. “Get you back to the motel…safe…call Bobby.” Sam panted for breath, using the flashlight to see where he was walking. “Not sure if I…want you to wake up right now…or not.”

The feeling of blood running down his stomach and soaking into his jeans was making him twitch; worse, was the light-headed feeling he was beginning to have trouble fighting off. They had walked for almost forty minutes before they’d found the bugbear. The thought that he had that far to go back made him want to whimper.

Sam stumbled and went to his knees, trying to smother a hoarse cry as Dean’s knees jabbed into his stomach. He kept his hold on Dean’s small body and breathed heavily, blinking as spots danced across his vision.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

Sam’s head jerked up as a woman’s voice carried on the night air. He cleared his throat and shifted Dean to his other shoulder so he could pull his rifle around. “Hello?” He climbed shakily to his feet, swaying and brought the muzzle of the rifle up as a woman appeared between the trees and a light shined on him suddenly.

“Oh, my…are you alright? Oh! Oh gosh, I’m sorry. Blinding you.” She lowered the light and came closer, eyes going wide as she saw the rifle.

Sam held his own light on her warily. She was attractive and slightly built with short, straight, dark hair and squared glasses. “I’m…we’re fine.” He lowered his light and stepped back but she followed him.

“You’re clearly not. I heard a bear a little bit ago.” She waved at his mid-section below his brother. “You’re bleeding…or is that his blood? Oh, god, not the boy’s I hope.”

Sam shook his head. “No…no, it’s mine. It’s nothing really.”

“Nothing, my ass.” She came forward, now ignoring the wavering muzzle of the rifle. “I’m Leah. Come on. My cabin’s just a few minutes from here and you need help. Please? Let me help?”

Sam stared at her face, and the sincerity in her eyes, along with his legs beginning to shake with exhaustion, made him give in. “Alright.” He nodded and put the rifle back on his shoulder.

“Let me take him?” Leah reached out, but Sam quickly turned away.

“No, I’ve got him,” Sam said fiercely, clutching his brother tightly to him. “I…look, it’s complicated but…this is my brother.”

“Quite an age difference.” Leah smiled and took Sam’s arm, giving him a push in the right direction.

“Not really,” Sam muttered. He staggered again, and this time Leah’s hand was on his shoulder, keeping him upright. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Leah smiled up at him. “Just over there.”

Sam looked up and saw a light appear through the trees ahead. Dean was getting heavier in his arms, and he picked up his pace, knowing he didn’t have much time left on his feet. “Sam, I’m Sam, by the way.” He turned a weak smile to her. “This is Dean. He’s, uh…he’s gonna be…confused when he wakes up.” He frowned. “Shit, he might not recognize me,” Sam said as the realization hit him.

“Um…no offense but, why wouldn’t your brother know who you are?” Leah watched him as they neared her little cabin.

“Like I said, it’s complicated.” Sam took the three steps with difficulty and was grateful for Leah’s steadying hand on his back. She went ahead of him and opened the door.

“There’s a couch on your left.” Leah held the door open for them and closed it once Sam was in.

“First aid kit?” Sam asked. He went to his knees beside the sofa and gently laid his child brother down, cradling his head as he stared at him in the light. He still couldn’t believe this had somehow happened. He groaned and let his head drop forward to rest on the cushion, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Sam?” Leah raised her hand from his shoulder when he jumped. “Sorry.” She smiled as he blinked up at her. “Can you move? Chair maybe?”

Sam followed her arm and nodded. “Yeah.” He used the couch to get up and stumbled the few steps to the chair beside it, dropping into it wearily. “Here.” He held out a shaking hand, but Leah pulled the kit away from him and set it on a nearby table.

“Nonsense. Let me.” Leah smiled and tugged a footstool over, sitting in front of him. “I’ve had some nursing experience. I can do this. Now, shirts off.”

Sam frowned but was, frankly, too close to passing out to put up much of an argument. Instead, he shrugged out of his jacket and pulled his shirts over his head, grimacing in pain. “You live out here…all alone?” He asked after he got his breath back.

Leah nodded. “Just me. My aunt used to live with me but…she died recently.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said sincerely while she bent over him and started cleaning the gashes in his stomach. He did his best not to squirm while the peroxide bubbled in the wounds.

“It’s alright. It was her time.” Leah shrugged and patted his knee. “Sorry, Sam. Almost done.”

He nodded and let his head fall back. Sam kept his eyes on the couch and his transformed brother, alert for any change in him because, sooner or later, Dean was going to wake up, and then things were really going to get interesting. He looked down and seeing the gashes cleaned only made it easier to see how much they sucked. “Do you have a suture kit in there?”

Leah shook her head. “No, sorry. I know this needs stitches.” She hovered a hand over the two wounds lowest on his stomach. “I can butterfly them closed for now, though.”

Sam nodded and let his head fall back. Blood loss and pain were taking their toll. “Good,” He said wearily and closed his eyes.

Leah finished closing his wounds as best she could, taped clean bandages over them, and leaned up, giving his face a light pat to rouse him. She frowned, feeling an unnatural warmth in his skin. “Sam? I think you should wake up now.”

Sam jerked his head up. “Huh? Right. Leah.”

“I think your brother’s waking up.” She smiled.

“Oh, man,” Sam groaned. He pulled himself up with difficulty and moved over to sit on the edge of the couch. Dean was stirring. “Leah, look. Something…weird happened tonight, and Dean, he’s gonna be confused.” He sighed and leaned over his brother. “Dean?” Sam watched as big, green eyes blinked open and looked up at him, then went wide with fear as the boy scrambled away from Sam on the couch up against the arm.

“Who…who are you? Where’s my mom? Mom? Dad!” Dean started yelling.

Sam reached out and caught one of Dean’s hands as his heart clenched. “Dean, calm down. It’s alright. I’m your…I’m Sam.”

Dean pressed the knuckles of his other hand to his mouth and stared at him. “Want my mom and dad.”

“I know, uh…they can’t…be here right now.” Sam smiled and squeezed the little hand he held. He’d hoped when Dean woke he’d remember everything and just be pissed about being a kid but no such luck. His big brother’s mind seemed to have regressed along with the rest of him. “They asked me to take care of you.”

Dean’s eyes traveled from Sam’s face down to his stomach and widened even more. “How come you’re hurt?”

Sam shook his head. “It’s nothing. It’s fine.”

“Actually, Dean, Sam here needs to lie down, but he wouldn’t listen to me until you woke up,” Leah smiled at Dean and winked at the irritated look on Sam’s face. “I’m Leah. You think we can make him lay back?”

Dean looked between them nervously and nodded after a moment. “’Kay.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Ganging up on the wounded guy? Really?”

Leah chuckled and pushed on his shoulder as Dean crawled back and pushed on his other, keeping hold of Sam’s hand. “I think you should give up now. We’re going to win.”

“Ok, but just for a minute.” Sam smirked and leaned back into the couch. A groan of pain escaped him as the wounds on his stomach pulled. He looked up in surprise when Dean settled in next to him and pulled Sam’s arm over his shoulders.

“How come’s my pants are gone?” Dean looked up at Sam curiously, wrinkling his nose as he pulled his bare legs up under his far too large t-shirt.

Sam chuckled wearily. “Uh…they got wet.” He stuck a hand into the pocket of Dean’s jacket and took out his cell phone then looked up to Leah. “You think maybe you could find something for him to eat?”

“I like sghettios,” Dean grinned up at her. “With meatballs.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Leah laughed and left the room.

Sam quickly dialed Bobby and waited until he answered. “Bobby, we got a problem. It’s Dean.”

“Balls! He alright? How bad’s he hurt?” Bobby’s voice was heavy with concern.

“He’s…he’s not hurt exactly so much as…uh…” Sam looked down at his brother and groaned. “Bobby, something turned him into a four year old. Physically, mentally…he’s four again.” He took Bobby’s silence for the shock it was.

“You wanna say that again?” Bobby listened in complete disbelief. “Thought you said the witch that was out there was dead already!”

“She is!” Sam propped the phone on his shoulder and pressed his free arm over his stomach. The pain was growing and he could feel his temperature rising. “There was something like a flash of light…leftover spell maybe. I dunno. Guh.”

“Sam? Son, you alright?” Bobby realized then what he had been hearing in the boy’s voice -- pain.

Sam nodded and then sighed, knowing Bobby couldn’t see him. “Bugbear tagged me. It’s fine.”

“You don’t sound fine, Sam.” Bobby rolled his eyes, figuring the Winchester stubborn streak was in full force.

“Bobby, I’m…look. Dean’s what’s important right now.” Sam looked down at his brother. “We have to fix this.”

“You don’t look so good, mister,” Dean peered up at him.

Sam smirked. His brother’s ridiculously long lashes were even more ridiculous as a four year old. “An’ everyone gets on me for puppy dog eyes.”

“Sam? I’m gonna find a counter spell. You get some rest.” Bobby said firmly into the phone, hearing Sam’s voice weaken and start to slur. “Whatever’s wrong with you, fix it. I’ll figure the rest of this out.”

“Yessir.” Sam smiled and flipped the phone closed.

“Where my parents?” Dean asked again and Sam breathed a sigh.

“We’ll see them…later, alright?” Sam smiled. There was absolutely no way he was going to try and explain what was going on to him. Right now, Dean thought he was four, his parents were safe, and all was right with the world. Sam planned on keeping it that way as long as he could.

“Here, Dean.” Leah came back in the room and handed a bowl to him, letting him take hold of it with a smile. “I didn’t have Spaghettios, I’m afraid, but how about spaghetti?”

“Awesome!” Dean said cheerily and swirled his fork into the noodles and sauce.

Sam laughed softly, watching his ‘big’ brother dig into the noodles at his side. Dean released his hand and Sam wiped it over his forehead, frowning at the sweat there. “Damn.” He whispered.

“Nickle.” Dean said and looked up at him with a grin.

“Huh? What nickel?” Sam asked as Leah came and leaned on the arm of the couch next to him.

“Dad says when you swear, you owe a nickel to the swear jar.” Dean laughed and spoke around a mouth full of noodles. “Mom makes Dad put a lot of nickels in the jar.”

Sam was both amused and infinitely saddened to hear some of the childhood he’d been robbed of. By the time he was old enough to speak, neither his brother nor father had ever really made an issue out of it; they cursed. He smiled fondly, and with a hint of sadness for the innocence lost from both of their lives, at the boy next to him. “I’ll find a nickel.”

“Sam.” Leah spoke softly next to him as she placed a cool hand on the back of his warm neck. “That bear’s claws…they were carrying something. You’re ill.”

Sam nodded wearily. “Apparently. It’s fine, I’ll…how do you know?” He whipped his head up to look at her suspiciously. “In fact, you’ve taken all of this pretty easily for a woman alone in the woods.”

“Eat your noodles, Dean.” Leah smiled over at him and tightened her hand on the back of Sam’s neck in warning. “You’re safe here, Sam. My name is Leah.” She smiled at him. “The bugbear…was my aunt’s.”

“You’re…crap. You’re a witch too?” Sam shoved her hand away from him and twisted, putting himself between her and his brother.

Leah rolled her eyes. “Not much of one. Look. That bear was my aunt’s pet or familiar or whatever you want to call it.” She shrugged and went to sit in the chair. “When she died, it went a little crazy. I was out there tonight trying to get him back under control.” She smiled warily at him now. “I was, uh…trying a spell I found in her book. It should have…regressed the bear to an earlier point in its life so I could retrain him.”

“Regressed?” Sam sat up straighter and instantly regretted it. The unstitched gashes in his stomach protested the movement. “That’s what happened to him?”

Leah nodded. “It’s not that bad, really. The spell’s not permanent by itself. It will wear off in about an hour, maybe less. I swear.”

Sam warred with the need to dive for his rifle on the other side of the room. He stared at her where she sat. She’d done nothing but try to help them and had even dressed his wounds.

“She in trouble, Sam?” Dean asked suddenly and peered up at him around his arm. “Dad gets that face when I do somethin’ wrong.”

“I guess not.” Sam said finally and leaned back. “Not yet, anyway.”

“I’m really sorry, Sam.” Leah said sincerely. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be out there tonight or I never would have laid that spell. I just…I didn’t want to kill him if I don’t have to.” She sighed. “Suppose I’ll have to now the next time he comes for me.”

“Comes for you?” Sam raised his brows and then grunted in surprise as Dean thumped back into his side with his noodles again. He chuckled as his brother tugged his arm back around his shoulders.

“It’s after me. The other people it’s killed…” Leah wiped moisture from her eyes. “They only got in the way…like you. I’m so sorry.” She stood and gave herself a shake. “I’ll get you some ice to try and keep your fever down. It’s not lethal or anything.” She smiled at him again. “It’s just to make the bugbear’s prey weak enough for him to catch you.”

“Great.” Sam let his head drop to the back of the couch as she left the room. “I’m prey.”

“Mom prays.” Dean piped in, misunderstanding and set his now empty bowl aside and gave a very Dean-like burp and grinned, and Sam couldn’t help but respond in kind. “She prays a lot right now ‘cause she says I’m gonna have a liddle brother soon.” He smiled even wider up at Sam. “She says he’s gonna be all mine and I’m gonna take awesome care of him. You watch. I’m gonna be the best big brother ever.”

Sam sucked in a breath and fought tears. “Yeah, you will,” He said gruffly, voice thick with emotion at the simple truth and faith in Dean’s young voice.

“You cryin’, Sam?” Dean looked up at him.

Sam shook his head and then grunted in surprise as Dean suddenly rushed up and wrapped his arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Dean?”

“Mom says when someone’s cryin’ they just need hugs.” Dean said into his neck and squeezed tighter. “Hugs make everything better.”

Sam choked on a sob and wrapped his arms around his brother’s small body, holding him tight and ignoring the burning in his stomach as Dean’s knees dug in to the wounds under the bandages. “Thank you,” Sam whispered. Seeing his big brother like this, warm and affectionate, happy and hopeful, made him suffer for the man Dean had become. He wished he could find a way for Dean to keep this feeling once he was himself again, a way for him to remember that it was ok to be loved once upon a time.

Leah came back in the room and sighed at the sight. “Dean, you want to help me make Sam feel better?” She set a tray with a bowl of cold water and towels down on the small table.

“Uh huh!” Dean unwound his arms from Sam’s neck and plopped back beside him.

Leah soaked a towel in the bowl and held it out to him while Sam rolled his eyes. She snickered softly. “Here you go, Dean.” She handed him the towel. “Put that on his neck. He’s got a fever and we need to cool him down.”

“I don’t feel that bad, really,” Sam protested as they both converged on him with towels. He groaned as Dean laid his towel in the side of his neck. The cold warring with the heat his body was generating sapped the last of his strength and his head fell back again and this time he couldn’t get it back up. He shivered as Leah spread another cold towel across his upper chest above the bandages.

“Just rest, Sam. You’ll feel better in a day or two,” Leah assured him softly.

“M’I doin’ it right?” Dean asked and grinned happily when Leah smiled at him.

“Just right.” Leah impulsively ruffled his spiky blonde hair, making him giggle.

Sam listened to them speaking over him and couldn’t stop the slow slide into unconsciousness as his wounds and the fever worked against him. He woke up sometime later, blinking gritty eyes open. His head felt like it weighed too much and he shivered as something cold and wet slid onto his neck.

“You’re really warm, Sam,” Dean said softly and patted the towel into place as Sam rolled his head over to look at him. He smiled. He liked Sam’s eyes; they kind of reminded him of his dad’s. He put a small hand on Sam’s neck and squeezed like his dad always did for him when he didn’t feel well. “Maybe we can get some ice cream later when Mom and Dad come back.”

Sam nodded and tried to pick his heavy head up. It was a struggle; the fever had well and truly set in. “Thanks, Dean.” He smiled sadly; even as a child with no memory of him, Dean was still trying to take care of him and worrying. “I’m ok. Honest. How long have I been asleep?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. A while.”

“Where’s Leah?” Sam tried to push himself up and flopped back weakly.

“She’s makin’ lemonade or somethin’.” Dean smiled and patted the cool towel on Sam’s neck. “She said I should keep a eye on you.”

Sam nodded and clenched his teeth to swallow a pained groan. His stomach was burning, but he hid the pain for Dean’s sake. “You should…go help her. I’ll be fine.” He smiled for his brother.

Dean frowned and quirked a brow at him. “Are you fibbin’ me?”

Sam was startled into a weak laugh. “No, Dean. I’m fine. Leah might need help carrying the drinks in here. Go on.” He smiled as Dean slid off the couch, and then laughed when Dean had to stop and grab his over-sized boxers and pull them up with an irritated growl. Sam listened to him run out of the room and gave voice to his pain once he was alone. He moaned loudly and managed to sit up enough to curl over himself with his arms crossed over his stomach.

“Crap,” Sam breathed softly, miserably, and pulled the towel off his neck. It had gone warm against his skin and was only serving to make him feel hotter now. He glanced up as laughter announced Leah and Dean coming back into the room. “Hey,” He greeted and worked to make his voice not sound as weak as he felt.

“We thought you might be thirs…” Leah’s voice broke off on a scream as the door of the cabin burst inward in a shower of splinters.

“Sam! Help!” Dean’s young voice pierced above the noise of the splintering door and the roar as the bugbear burst into the cabin. Leah threw the tray at the bear’s face and grabbed Dean, shielding him with her body as the bear loomed over them.

“NO!” Sam lunged off the couch and across the room for his rifle, his injuries and weakness forgotten. He staggered in front of Leah and Dean where they cowered and raised the muzzle of the rifle up into the bear’s face. The moment he pulled the trigger, there was a flash of light from behind him. At the same moment, his bullet took the bugbear between the eyes. It screamed and fell over backwards with a crash, shaking the cabin with the impact.

Sam gasped in a breath and went to his knees, unable to stay standing, but kept the rifle trained on the bear. “Leah? Is Dean alright? Are you?”

“Yes, yes we’re fine. Oh, my God.” Leah picked herself up off the floor and smiled. “Um, Sam?”

“What?” Sam turned his head minutely and then jerked in surprise; Dean lay on the floor beside Leah, his adult self once more, and even as Sam watched, he moaned and blinked his eyes open. “Oh, thank God,” Sam breathed and closed his eyes, sagging back to sit on the floor.

Dean opened his eyes to find a very attractive, dark-haired woman peering down at him. “Uh…hi? What’s goin’ on?” He started to push himself up and smiled when she took his arm and pulled. He looked down and his smile turned to shocked embarrassment as he saw his bare legs sticking out. “What the hell? Where are my pants? Sam?”

“Dean, calm down!” Leah chuckled. “You’re fine. Sam’s right there.” She moved so he could see his brother.

“Holy shit!” Dean exclaimed on seeing his shirtless, bandage-covered brother and the dead bugbear beyond him. “Sammy?” He pushed to his feet, uselessly trying to tug his shirt down to cover his boxers. “Alright. What the hell’s goin’ on?”

“It’s…” Leah started and Sam cut her off smoothly.

“Dead witch’s fault.” Sam shrugged and let the rifle drop to lie next to him. “Left a spell trap in the woods and you tripped it.” He smirked at his brother’s bare legs. “Long story.”

“Well, I got time,” Dean growled.

“Leah helped us out.” Sam let his head fall forward, his energy spent. “Killed the bear.”

“I see that…shit!” Dean lunged down and caught his brother as he started to fall sideways. “What the…he’s got a fever?” He looked up as Leah came around Sam’s other side and nodded.

Leah gestured at Sam’s stomach. “The bear clawed him. I did my best but he’s got a minor infection.” She smiled. “He’ll be fine, really.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Come on, sasquatch.” Dean slid an arm under his brother’s shoulders and pulled him up with Leah’s help and got him to the couch. “Don’t suppose my pants are around here somewhere?”

Leah laughed and blushed prettily. “Uh…still out in the woods…somewhere. Sorry.”

“Awesome,” Dean groaned. He sat next to Sam and carefully peeled back the edge of the bandage over his stomach and hissed out a breath when he saw the four, long claw marks. “Damn.”

“They’re really not very deep but I didn’t have any way to stitch them.” Leah explained and stepped back as Dean hovered and checked Sam over. It was interesting watching Dean’s treatment of him now as opposed to when he’d been a child. Really, not much was different except for the affection she saw added to the concern in his eyes now.

Dean glanced up at her and raised a brow. “You don’t seem too phased about a dead bear and a witch. Any reason?”

Leah smiled and raised her hands. “I’ve lived in these woods all my life. Lots of strange things go through here.” Sam hadn’t outed her to his brother, so she took his lead and kept her vocation to herself. “I was coming back from the store and saw him carrying you out of the woods, well…trying to, but…” She gestured to Sam’s stomach and Dean nodded.

“Stubborn ass,” Dean said fondly. He brushed Sam’s hair off his forehead, gauging his fever and frowned. “Get him back to our motel, I can sew him up and get this fever down.”

“How far away is your car?” Leah turned and dunked one of the towels in the bowl of now tepid water and then handed it to him. “Here.”

Dean took the towel and shrugged. “No idea where we are right now.” He wiped it over his brother’s forehead and down his neck, smiling when Sam moaned softly and shifted his head. “Time to wake up, sleeping beauty.”

Sam blinked his eyes open and frowned up at his brother. “Dean?” He looked down and around and his frown deepened. “How’d I get on the couch?”

Dean chuckled. “Nothing gets past you.” He looked around and pointed. “Hand me his jacket?”

Leah nodded and picked it up. “You could stay the night, you know. He’ll be better in the morning, I’m sure.”

“No offense, but we don’t know you.” Dean smiled to take the sting from the words. “Not to mention, I kinda want pants…now.”

“Car’s ‘bout a mile…east, I think.” Sam took a breath and pushed up on his elbows. He smiled gratefully when Dean took his shoulders to help him sit. A wave of vertigo washed over him and he let his head drop onto his brother’s shoulder.

“You’re such a girl, you know that?” Dean chuckled and took Sam’s jacket from Leah, helping his brother slip it on, all with his head firmly planted on his shoulder. “If you’re done cuddlin’ me, we gotta go.”

Sam nodded and raised his head. “Kay. I’m good.” He gave Dean a lop-sided smile. “’sides, had enough of your…naked legs for a while.”

“Smart-ass.” Dean growled at him and stood, bringing Sam up with him. He steadied him and pulled his arm over his shoulders.

“Leah. Thank you.” Sam smiled sincerely at her and rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment. “You saved our lives.”

Leah blushed and shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I just saved you a long walk carrying him back to the car.” She looked over at her door and the dead bugbear with a grimace. “I’d, uh…get the door for you but…”

Dean chuckled. “You gimme a couple hours and I’ll be back to clean this up for you.” He smiled. “Least I can do. Just let me dump gigantor here at the motel.”

“Shuddup.” Sam slapped Dean in the stomach, smirking at his grunt. “ _We’ll_ be back.” He said to Leah.

“ _I’ll_ be back. _You’ll_ be in a damn bed after I stitch your gut back together.” Dean glared at him and rolled his eyes. “Toss a blanket…or something…over big ugly there.” He grinned at Leah who was smothering laughter behind her hand.

“I’ll look forward to it. Take care, Sam.” Leah took his free hand and then let him go. “I’m glad you’re both alright and…thank you.”

Sam smiled down at her warmly and let Dean guide him around the bear’s body and outside. “Glad you’re…back to your old self, Dean.” Sam said and smiled at his brother’s frown as they went down the stairs and Sam pointed in the right direction.

“Yeah, you wanna tell me how I ended up pantsless on hot chick’s living room floor?” Dean gave him a curious look as Sam snorted a laugh.

“Remember that spell I said you tripped?” Sam looked over at him and, for just a moment, missed the open, happy look Dean had had on his face for a couple hours. “Well, it…”

“Hang on.” Dean dug in his pocket as his phone rang and fished it out, flipped it open. “Hey Bobby.”

“Dean! You sound like you!” Bobby said in surprise.

“Of course I’m me! Who the hell else would I be?” Dean turned an angry stare on his brother who was snickering as they wove through the forest. “Someone better damn well tell me why I’ve got no pants!”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	9. For Lucydolly22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Lucydolly22 - Could you do a one-shot set in season 1 where Dean find an amulet that can hipnotises people and uses it on Sam at first its hilarious but then takes a turn for the worst.
> 
> A/N: You got it! Season 1 boys, hijinks and danger with a hypnotizing amulet. :P

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam turned from the shelf he was searching and rolled his eyes as another crash sounded across the room. “Dude, are you _trying_ to break everything in here?” Digging through the contents of a magic supply storage warehouse wasn’t his idea of a fun night, especially not with Dean periodically turning into a giant ten-year-old every time he found something to play with…or irritate him with. He snorted as his big brother’s head popped up from behind a stack of crates wearing a feathered headdress.

“You need to lighten up, Sammy!” Dean chuckled and bent, letting the headdress topple off to the floor in a heap.

“It’s Sam, and we’re supposed to be looking for a cursed amulet.” Sam shined his flashlight in his brother’s face with a smirk, making him growl. “How about you help me?”

“Whatever. I’m helping.” Dean grinned and waved a hand dismissively at his brother. “Such a wet blanket, Sammy.” He went to the far wall and a row of glass-fronted shelves, shining his light along the shelves. “What’s this amulet supposed to do again?”

“Uh, it belonged to a famous hypnotist.” Sam set aside yet another box and pulled down one from the top of a head-high stack. “The guy could make anyone do anything. The provenance said it went through a few auction houses before it ended up here.”

“And we care because?” Dean turned around and tossed a glittering tiara to Sam. “That oughta fit you, princess.”

“Bite me.” Sam glared and set the tiara on a box. “Because someone was using it right before it got here.” He opened a box and sighed, finding nothing but costumes. “Hypnotized a few people right off a roof. Ya think maybe we should take care of it before someone else picks it up and figures it out?”

Dean shrugged. “I suppose. What happened to the asshat who was using it?” He picked through the collection of jewelry on the nearest shelf with a grimace for all the gaudy jewels, gold and silver. “Who wears this stuff?”

“Magicians,” Sam said with a chuckle. “Don’t know what happened to him. The amulet was pawned and ended up here.” He tossed a pair of lime-green, bejeweled tights into the back of his brother’s head. “You should keep those.”

Dean batted them away and grabbed one of the gaudy necklaces from the case, holding it out by the chain and held his flashlight on it so light from the jewels scattered in little rainbows around the room. “Hey, Sammy! Check it out! You’re feeling very sleepy!” He said theatrically, chuckled and gave it a spin. “What no smart-ass comment?” Dean looked up and stared in surprise. His brother was standing with his eyes closed, swaying slightly. “Sam?” Sam swayed forward and Dean leaped across the room to stop him crashing to the floor.

“You screwin’ with me?” Dean growled and lowered his brother to the floor. “Sam! What the hell? Wake up!” A feeling of dread washed over him as Sam’s eyes snapped open and he looked blankly up at him. “Sam? You alright?” Sam made no sign of answering him. “Ok, not funny anymore. Get up, dammit!”

Sam scrambled to his feet and then stood, still staring at him.

“Dude, answer me! You ok?” Dean demanded in the beginning of a panic.

“Yes, Dean. I’m fine,” Sam replied tonelessly.

Dean stared at him and held up the necklace, looking closely at it. “Uh…what was the amulet supposed to look like?” In response, Sam simply raised an arm and pointed to the necklace. “Son of a bitch.” He took a closer look at it. A large, ruby stone was surrounded by diamonds in a square setting with more rubies inlaid in the heavy, gold chain.

“What were the friggin’ odds,” Dean groaned and looked back up at his brother’s blank stare. “Jump up and down.” He smirked as Sam began jumping in place. “On one leg.” His smirk became a laugh as Sam started hopping on one foot. “Turn in circles.” As ordered, Sam began hopping and slowly turning in a circle. “Oh, man. Stop. Stop.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and worked to stop laughing as Sam stood still and staring at him once more.

“Ok. How do I make this thing stop working?” Dean waited and Sam said nothing. “Sam! Answer me. How do I make you…you know, not hypnotized?”

“I don’t understand,” Sam said, again in that expressionless voice, and Dean growled angrily.

“Fuck!” Dean shouted. He shoved the amulet in his jacket pocket. “Ok, come on, sasquatch. We gotta figure this out. Just…follow me?” He took a few steps and breathed out in frustration as Sam followed closely on his heels. “You’re like a friggin’ puppy like this.” He led his brother out of the warehouse and out to the Impala. Dean went to the driver’s side and opened his door then turned in surprise, finding Sam standing inches behind him.

“Dude! Get in the damn car!” Dean pointed to the other side. “Passenger seat. Go. Sit!”

Sam dutifully walked around the car and slid in beside his brother. Though he faced forward, his eyes were trained on Dean, who was becoming decidedly uncomfortable with the whole thing and starting to have a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Ok, that’s not a creepy stare or anything.” Dean pulled away from the warehouse and onto the road. “Would you just…look out the damn window or something.” He glanced over and sighed in relief when Sam turned his thousand-mile stare out to the road. “Sure hope your geek-self is still in there somewhere.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean paced back and forth in the motel room, alternating between glaring at his brother and glaring at the amulet tossed on his bed. He’d called several fellow Hunters already with none of them the wiser on how to counter the amulet’s effects.

“You know, all the times I tease you for being research boy, I could use you right now,” Dean said to his brother and sighed as Sam just watched him. “Dammit.” He looked back at his phone and scrolled through his contacts. He stopped on one he hadn’t called in a while because his Dad was feeling less than charitable when it came to that particular Hunter for reasons Dean still didn’t understand. He hit dial and took a deep breath as it rang.

“Hey, Bobby. It’s Dean,” Dean heard the intake of breath on the other end. “Uh…”

“Your phone been broke for the last year?” Bobby yelled into the phone. “I told your idjit Dad to stay the hell away, not you. Where the hell are you?”

Dean gaped for a moment and then smirked. “Uh…Idaho at the moment. Look, I kinda got a problem.”

“Figures. Only time a Winchester remembers my number is when they need somethin’.” Bobby growled and huffed out a breath. “What’cha need? Who’d you piss off?”

“Hey! I didn’t piss anyone off….today.” Dean rolled his eyes and looked over at his brother. “Sammy and me, we were after this cursed amulet…” He quickly filled Bobby in on what had happened and felt a small measure of peace knowing the older Hunter was there to help. Bobby had always been family and he knew he’d find a way to fix his brother.

“You know Sam’s gonna kick your ass when he comes outta this.” Bobby chuckled. “You deserve it too. What the hell were you thinkin’ screwin’ around like that?” He raised his voice, hoping Dean understood the gravity of the situation. “I’ll figure somethin’ out, but you best not be screwin’ with your brother, you hear me, son?”

Dean snorted and flipped the phone closed. “Oh, blow me.” He rolled his eyes and put his phone away. Dean heard a thump and whipped around to find Sam had gone to his knees in front of him and was reaching for the waist of Dean’s jeans.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Not what I meant! Holy shit!” Dean slapped Sam’s hands away and danced back a few steps in shock. “Get…go sit…somewhere. Table! Go sit at the damn table!” Sam said nothing and got back up. He went and sat quickly at the table, staring at Dean and waiting for his next command.

“Wow.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face as he watched his brother. “I really gotta watch what I say until we fix you.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned down to look into Sam’s eyes. “If you’re in there somewhere, that was totally an accident. I swear, dude. You can’t hold that one against me.” He waited but there was no answering flicker of Sam anywhere in his eyes, and Dean sighed, straightening. “This sucks.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean pulled the Impala up behind the warehouse again and parked. “I hope Bobby’s sure about this.” Bobby had called him back to inform him the amulet had a case and that, while in its case, its effects were nullified. “Come on, sasquatch.” He got out and groaned when he had to lean back in for his brother who had yet to move. “Sam. Follow me.”

Sam quickly got out and was at Dean’s heels again in a moment.

“I think I actually miss your whining,” Dean said over his shoulder and decided he didn’t want to see the vacant expression on his brother’s face again just yet. It was disturbing and upsetting to not see the vibrant personality that was Sam in his face and eyes. Having Sam follow him around like an automaton, mindless and open to suggestion, had been funny at first, but now…he worried that he might not be able to get him back.

Dean shoved open the door whose lock he’d busted open earlier in the day. “Inside.” He ordered and let Sam slip past him. Dean flicked on his flashlight and gave him a push toward the far side of the warehouse. “Keep walking, over to that wall.” Sam dutifully did as he was told and when he reached the wall, he stood still and turned his head to find Dean and wait.

Dean started going through the shelves and groaned when he realized he didn’t remember which shelf he’d found the amulet on. “Why the hell wasn’t I paying attention earlier?” Each box he found he dropped the amulet into and looked over at his brother, growing more frustrated each time there was no change in Sam’s blank expression.

“I think you’re looking for this.”

Dean spun at the unfamiliar voice and shined his light on a young man standing near the door. “Who the hell are you?” He saw the man hold up a small, square box and smile at him.

“The man who can save your friend, I take it. He looks a little…empty.” The man chuckled. “I love it when they’re like that, right before you tell them to shuffle off a roof top or walk in front of a train. It’s very…exhilarating.”

“Yeah, whatever. Gimme the damn box and maybe you walk outta here.” Dean shoved the amulet back in his pocket and whipped out his gun, aiming at the man’s head. “I take it you’re the asshole who was killing people?”

The man raised a hand and shrugged. “I didn’t actually kill anyone. They walked themselves off those roofs. I can’t help it if they were…suggestible.”

“Suggestible, my ass,” Dean growled and took a few steps closer to him. “Give me the box. Now.”

“Give me the amulet and I’ll put it in the box.” The man smiled again and held the box up. “You know, these old curio boxes aren’t as durable as you’d think.” He hefted the box meaningfully. “Why, just dropping it could be enough to crack it, and then what would you do?”

“Have the satisfaction of splattering your brains on the wall behind you.” Dean said dangerously. “Hand over the damn box already.”

The man wagged a finger at Dean. “I don’t think so.”

Dean cursed as the man threw something at his feet and a cloud of smoke erupted from the floor, obscuring his vision. “Son of a bitch!” Dean ran through the smoke and grunted as he was tackled to the floor. He started to bring his gun around and felt the man’s hand reaching into his pocket for the amulet.

“No…you don’t!” Dean kneed him in the side, but not before his hand clenched around the amulet.

“Set yourself on fire!” The man shouted and then cried out as Dean hit the back of his head and sent him sprawling.

Dean scrambled to his knees and looked back to find Sam walking toward a pile of costumes and pulling a zippo from his pocket. “Sam! Stop!” Sam ignored him and Dean gasped. He shoved a hand into his pocket and came out empty, realizing suddenly that the power of the amulet lay with whoever held it at the moment, no matter who had first triggered it. “You bastard!” Dean fell on the man and pushed the barrel of his gun up under his chin while he held his other arm out of his sight, afraid to fall under the same spell. “Let go.” Dean’s head jerked up as he heard flames crackle to life and swallowed hard as flames burst to life at his brother’s feet. He turned his angry gaze back to the man under him and cocked his gun. “Let it go or I’ll make you. Your choice.”

The man stared up at him and finally seemed to understand that his life was about to be cut very short. “Alright! Alright!” He released the amulet to clatter on the floor. “Let me go!”

Dean shook his head and felt around the floor until his hand clasped around it. “Nope.” He brought the amulet up until the man’s eyes looked at it and widened. “You’re feeling very sleepy, asshole.” He grinned as the man’s eyes closed and he went limp.

Dean surged to his feet and looked over at his brother, his heart lodging somewhere in his throat as he realized he had only seconds before Sam was engulfed in flames. “Sam!” He ran and tackled him away from the fire now raging up the boxes beside him. He pulled Sam clear and set him against the wall, batting out the flames on the right leg of his jeans. “Stay.”

Dean rushed back to his feet and searched around the floor with his flashlight. “Come on. Come on!” He shoved boxes out of the way and finally saw the little curio box beside the door. He slid to it on his knees and opened it, dropping the amulet inside. He slapped the lid closed and heard two surprised gasps. “Uh oh.” Dean opened the box and tipped the amulet back out into his hand as the young man lurched to his feet, holding it out by the chain, making sure his body was blocking it from Sam’s line of sight.

“Hey! Asshole!” Dean shouted and grinned as the man turned to look without thinking. “Don’t move!” He chuckled as the murderous man froze in mid-stride. “Gotcha.” Dean went to stand in front of him, tucking the amulet back into his pocket. “You are going to go straight to the nearest police station, turn yourself in and confess to every murder you’ve committed. Go.” He watched for just a moment as the man turned with a blank face and started out.

“Sammy.” Dean jogged across the warehouse and to his brother who still sat against the wall near the fire that was continuing to spread upward and outward and starting to fill the warehouse with smoke. “You alright?” He grinned in relief as Sam looked up at him with confusion and pain in his eyes.

“Uh…I don’t know. What the hell happened?” Sam gestured an arm to his right leg. “How’d I get burned?”

“Shit.” Dean dropped to kneel beside him and poked at the singed holes in the leg of Sam’s jeans. The skin underneath was red and blistered, but he exhaled in relief. “Could have been a lot worse. Trust me.”

“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam groaned as his brother yanked him to his feet, and then started coughing as he gasped in a lungful of smoke.

“Found the amulet,” Dean gave him a lopsided smile and a shove toward the door realizing they needed to get out of there sooner rather than later before the whole place went up around them. He stopped and scooped up the amulet’s curio box on his way out. “Put it in here and it’s harmless.”

“So put it in already.” Sam grumbled as he limped over to the Impala and climbed inside.

Dean shook his head as he got in. “Not just yet. The, uh…former owner needs about an hour.” He grinned at the confusion on his brother’s face. “You don’t remember anything?”

“Any what?” Sam stared hard at him and got the feeling he’d missed more than he thought. “Dean, what did you do?”

Dean just laughed and pulled out onto the road. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Sammy.” He flicked on the radio and turned up the volume. “But if you get the urge to start hopping on one foot, let me know.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

The End.


	10. For Zemyx1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For zemyx1995 - Set in either season 1 or 2, it doesn't really matter as long as Sammy still has his beautiful early hairstyle haha. He should be either injected or subjected to some kind of drug that gives the look of unconsciousness, but he is only in fact paralyzed, meaning he can still hear everything thats going on but can't move or respond in anyway, Dean should find him and be frantic trying to wake him up but can't, I'd like him all helpless and for some kind of confession or revelation to be let out (only because he thinks sam can't hear him). Eventually Sam recovers from the drugs effects... and you can go from there...
> 
> A/N: Since the last prompt was for season 1, we’ll set this one in season 2. :

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

The old house rang with the sound of a shotgun blast, the bang carrying out into the abandoned neighborhood. Dean spun from the zombie he’d just beheaded on the front lawn and looked up at the house worriedly. Sam was in there. They’d come to New Orleans after Bobby had found what sounded distinctly like the work of zombies. The ninth ward hadn’t fared well during Hurricane Katrina, and while parts of it were coming back, others were still desolate landscapes of destruction slowly being reclaimed by nature.

“Dammit!” Dean kicked the head away from the now-dead zombie and ran to the crumbling porch, jumping over the ruined steps and in the front door. “Sam!”

“Upstairs!” Sam shouted as he heard his brother calling him. He stepped over the headless zombie he’d just shot and went down the hall after the other. These zombies had fed recently and were aware enough to run. He jogged down the hall and turned a corner leading with his shotgun. “Shit!” Sam reared back as a cloud of white powder blew into his face. It burned into his eyes, nose, and mouth and made him cough. He tried to bring the muzzle of the gun back up but his arms were no longer cooperating. He felt himself go to his knees and then fell to his face as his whole body began to tingle and go numb. Sam’s face hit the floor hard and he silently screamed in his mind for his brother; not a sound passed his lips.

He heard someone walk around him and felt the vibrations of the floor on his chest. Sam inwardly cringed as an unfamiliar hand touch the back of his head and he felt himself being grabbed and flipped onto his back. He wanted to shout and curse as someone’s garlic-heavy breath brushed his face. Sam could do nothing but listen as whoever it was spoke softly over him words that he couldn’t make out, andtouched his forehead with wet fingers and traced something into the skin. Sam heard his brother yell for him again and the person, whoever it was, was gone.

 _‘Oh, God, Dean. Hurry!’_ Sam thought silently.

Dean pounded up the stairs to the second floor of the house. “Sammy?” He shouted and looked in the first room he came to. A headless zombie lay on the floor. “Ok. Sam? Answer me, dammit!” He went down the hall, peering into the gloomy light from the mud-covered window at the end. He felt his breath catch in his throat when he made out a familiar form lying motionless on the ground. He broke into a run and slid to a stop beside his brother.

“Sam!” Dean leaned over him. “Oh, God. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.” He put shaking fingers to his brother’s neck and blew out a breath in relief. “Thank God. Sammy?” He turned Sam’s head toward him and frowned. A fine white powder dusted his face. Dean gave him a shake. “Sam! Wake up!” Sam made no move and Dean’s heart leapt into his throat. He looked up and down the hall, seeing no sign of the remaining zombie.

“Alright. I gotta get you outta here.” He pulled Sam up and maneuvered his boneless body over his shoulders, scooped up both their shotguns, and went as quickly and carefully out of the house as he could. He was grateful for the empty streets as he jogged slowly back to the Impala and slid his brother into the backseat. Sam had yet to even twitch a muscle. “You are damaging my calm, Sam.” Dean leaned over his face and slapped his cheek a couple times. “Dammit. Wake up already.”

Dean shut the door and got behind the wheel. He dialed Bobby as he pulled away and headed toward the French Quarter and the seedy motel they’d found a few blocks off Bourbon street. “Bobby, something’s happened to Sam,” Dean said without preamble once he heard the man’s gruff voice.

“What’s wrong? He in a hospital?” Bobby’s voice was laden with concern as all the worst case scenarios ran through his head. It had only been a few weeks since the boys lost their father and he wasn’t sure Dean would survive the loss of his brother on top of that. “How bad is it?”

Dean took a breath to calm himself. “We were hunting those zombies. I got one, Sam got another. But, Bobby, I found him on the floor. I can’t wake him up, and there’s this weird white powder on his face.”

“White powder?” Bobby’s brain immediately kicked into research mode and he rose, going to the wall of books. “It smell like anything?”

“Shit, I don’t know. Hang on. Almost back to the motel.” Dean sped down the street and into the shadow of their three-floor motel, parking below their balcony. He got out and opened the back door, leaning over his brother’s face.

“Don’t breathe too deep!” Bobby shouted in the phone. “Don’t wanna end up the same.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “No kidding.” He bent close to Sam’s face and sniffed carefully then leaned back. “No. Doesn’t smell like anything.”

“Ok. Ok that’s good.” Bobby started pulling books from the shelves and stacking them in his arm. “Only a few things it could be, and not all of ‘em life-ending bad. Just…” Bobby sucked in a deep, worried breath. “Keep an eye on him. I’ll get back to ya soon as I have somethin’.”

Dean stared at the phone after Bobby hung up. “Awesome.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket and slid his arms under his brother’s shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here.” Dean tugged Sam out of the seat and over his shoulders once more, bumped the door shut and groaned as he started up the stairs to their room on the third floor.

“Ground level…rooms…from now on.” Dean panted as he hefted his heavy burden. Thankfully, the stairs were outside and it was late enough no one else seemed to be loitering around. He smirked. Not that it’d be a problem if someone did see him carrying Sam up the stairs; it was the French Quarter. Odds were no one would bat an eye anyway.

Dean sighed in relief as he got them inside the room and laid Sam out on the far bed. He sat beside his brother and gave his shaking legs a rest. He looked over at Sam and put his hand alongside his neck again, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse. “Really wish you’d wake the hell up already, princess.” He went to the bathroom, wet a towel and sat back beside him to carefully clean the remains of the white powder from his face and neck.

Sam was screaming inside his own mind each time he heard Dean’s voice or felt his hands on him. He thought maybe he might be going a little mad. No matter how hard he strained with his mind to coax his body to respond to even the simplest commands, it had no effect. He couldn’t even open his eyes to let his brother know he was awake. He felt something cool and wet on his face and it took him a moment to realize Dean was cleaning him. He could hear Dean speaking and clearly heard the fear behind the gruff words and sad attempts at humor he kept making.

 _‘Dean, I’m here! I can hear you!’_ Sam shouted it and cursed his uncooperative body again as no sound escaped him, not even a whisper. He supposed he should be thankful he was even still breathing. Surely the effects of whatever he’d been dosed with had to wear off…soon. He wouldn’t stay like this forever…would he? Sam panicked further as he couldn’t even hyperventilate and have a proper panic attack.

Dean frowned and stared at the side of his brother’s neck. He could see Sam’s pulse beating frantically in his throat. It drove his worry up another notch. “Sammy? You alright?” He growled and squeezed the side of his neck. “Aside from being stubbornly unconscious? Come on, kiddo. Ease down.” Sam’s heart was racing, and Dean hoped it didn’t mean something worse was going to happen. He set the towel aside and brushed overlong, damp hair off Sam’s forehead. Getting the powder out of it had been a pain in the ass. “I could give you a haircut right now and you couldn’t stop me.”

 _‘Touch my hair, Dean, and I swear I’ll key the Impala as soon as I can move again!’_ Sam wished he could glare at him and then wished he could just grab hold of him and reassure his big brother that he was there. Only someone who’d known Dean all his life would have been able to hear the panic in his brother’s voice, feel it in every touch. That was usually Sam’s thing, physical reassurance, but Dean seemed unable all of a sudden to not have a hand on him and Sam was grateful. He needed it. It was his only lifeline, trapped in his own body as he was.

“Sam, what’s happened to you?” Dean asked softly. He should be researching, but shook his head; Bobby would do a better and faster job than he could. There was still one more zombie out there that they knew of, but there was no way he was leaving his brother alone defenseless like this. The world could fend for itself at the moment. In truth, he couldn’t make himself leave Sam’s side. He needed to be near him; he had no other way to even tell if he was still alive.

Dean set his phone on the bedside table and sighed. “If you’re in there somewhere, I don’t wanna hear about this later.” He pulled Sam gently up and slid in behind him, resting his brother against his chest and put an arm across his upper chest to keep him from slumping forward. “I’m only doing this to keep an eye on your comatose ass. I am _not_ …cuddling, you big baby.”

 _‘Are too,’_ Sam thought in a moment of humor and would have given anything to see the irritation on Dean’s face just then. _‘Oh, God, Dean. Please tell me this is going to pass!’_

“This is…scaring the hell out of me, Sam,” Dean said suddenly, softly. He allowed himself the luxury of resting his chin in his brother’s hair. “I can’t lose you too. I can’t. I just…” He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes at the flash of pain as he thought about their father’s death. “You can’t leave me alone, Sammy, ‘cause I swear if you do, I will follow you and kick your ass.”

Sam suffered listening to Dean’s broken voice in his ear. It was near impossible to get Dean to share any of the pain he suffered with him, and now he was opening his wounds and all Sam could do was listen. _‘Dean, I’m sorry! I’m here! God, I’m here!’_ The thought of Dean losing all hope terrified him. Sam vividly remembered how he had felt with Dean lying in a hospital bed. The memories were part of his nightmares, being told his brother’s heart was beyond help, and then again after the wreck and once more being informed there was no hope. Sam would have done anything, made any deal, to save his brother.

“Sammy…” Dean sighed and chuckled softly, tightening his grip around him. “You remember when you were twelve and Dad made you do extra laps for a week? Man you were pissed.” He laughed. “Dad never said why ‘cause _he_ was too pissed to even talk to ya.” Dean shook his head, ruffling Sam’s hair with his chin. “That was my fault. He thought you’d been screwin’ around with his favorite shotgun and busted the firing pin.”

Dean groaned with the memory. “I did it. I was trying to clean the stupid thing, and, uh, my hand slipped. But, dude…it was his favorite shotgun, and I _knew_ he’d kick my ass if he knew it was me. But you…you were still a kid.” He patted Sam’s shoulder. “I knew Dad wouldn’t beat you over it. I swear, man, I only busted you out ‘cause I knew he wouldn’t hurt you.” Dean sighed sadly and buried his other hand in Sam’s hair.

“I was…Dad scared me when he was pissed, dude.” Dean rolled his eyes, not quite believing he was actually saying it out loud and was thankful his brother was unconscious. “I know you think he was hard on you, but I swear, kiddo, you got no idea.”

 _‘I’m sorry,’_ Sam wished his damn voice would work; he wished he could even cry, because, right then, he was choking with tears he couldn’t shed. He knew damn well Dean had protected him as they grew up, not just from the things in the night but from their father’s mercurial temper. He’d always known it. He remembered that incident and that every day for a week after he’d run his laps, Dean had taken him out for ice cream, just the two of them. _‘Dean, I’m so sorry. I don’t care about the laps. Just, please…stop. Please.’_

Dean wrapped both arms around Sam, pressing his chin into the top of his head. “You gotta come out of this, little brother.” He snorted into Sam’s hair. “We’re having this huge chick-flick moment here and you’re missing all the fun.”

The ringing of his phone made him startle, and Dean whipped a hand out, scooping up his phone. “Hello? Bobby?”

“Dean, how is he?” Bobby asked and wished he was there to take care of them.

“The same. Tell me this shit wears off, Bobby. Please.” Dean said softly even as he was bracing himself for the worst.

Bobby smiled. “It wears off,” He paused as he heard Dean suck in a breath of relief. “If I’m right, and I usually am, he’ll start coming out of it anytime now. That dust is popular with the voodoo culture down there. It’s a paralytic extract from the puffer fish.”

“Blow fish?” Dean asked in surprise and then smirked. “Sam got blown.”

“Would you grow up already?” Bobby rolled his eyes even while he laughed. “Yeah, blowfish. He’ll be fine. Groggy probably for a while and sluggish. Might have trouble holdin’ onto things for a couple days while it works out of his system completely.”

“So, I’ll have comic relief then. Awesome,” Dean grinned as relief swept through him. “I’ll be sure to let him know soon as he wakes up.”

“Oh, he’s awake, so I hope you been talkin’ to him.” Bobby informed him cheerfully. “That dust just paralyzes its victims. They’re still awake and alert the whole time. Damn evil stuff. I’ve heard of some nasty shit bein’ done to people under that crap.”

“He’s…awake?” Dean asked warily. He nudged his brother over until Sam’s head rolled onto his shoulder so he could see his face. “So, Sam can hear everything I’ve been saying to him?”

“Yep; and feel, too.” Bobby laughed. “Hope you didn’t go all deathbed confessional on him or nothin’.” Dean’s silence made him laugh. “Oh, no. You did.”

“Shut up.” Dean glared out at the room. “Thanks, Bobby.” He flipped the phone closed on another laugh and tossed it back on the table. Dean looked down at his brother’s face. As embarrassed as he felt for the things he’d said, he imagined Sam, trapped in his own mind, probably screaming, unable to move or speak but aware of everything around him. “I can’t believe you’ve heard every damn word. Ok. First, it’s gonna wear off soon. Bobby says you’re gonna be fine, so stop panicking in there. Second…rules. I think we’re gonna go with Fight Club here. We NEVER talk about any of this.”

If he could have moved, Sam would have been cheering, laughing, and crying all at the same time. He realized suddenly he could feel fresh moisture on his cheeks.

“Whoa, easy, buddy. Take it easy.” Dean instinctively pulled Sam’s head back under his chin as tears started to leak from his eyes to run down his cheeks. “Guess you’re coming out of it now, huh? It’s alright. You’re alright. I’m right here, little brother. I gotcha.” He gently wiped away the tears, but more continued to flow. He felt a sudden hitch in his brother’s breathing and grinned as a low moan sounded from his throat. “That’s it kiddo. Come on.” Dean tightened his grip as the hitched breaths turned into gasps and tears started to drip down onto his arm from his brother’s chin.

Sam couldn’t seem to stop the tears from coming or the panicked breaths as his body started to regain control of itself. The tears flowed faster, his breathing started to approach hyperventilation and then he blinked.

“Sammy?” Dean shifted his brother’s head over again and saw his eyes flutter open. He grinned down at him. “Hey, tiger. Take it easy.” He kept eye contact with Sam as the powder’s effects wore off and had to hold him tightly as he started to jerk his arms and legs, and his whole body began to tremble.

“Ngh…D…Dean.” Sam closed his eyes and heaved in a breath as he finally managed to get a word past the paralysis.

“Right here. Don’t fight it, Sam. Just breathe.” Dean no longer cared that he was cuddled up with his little brother; the naked fear and relief on Sam’s face now was heart-wrenching. “It’s wearing off. You’re gonna be fine soon.” He grinned again as Sam managed a shaky, short nod. The relief at having him moving and speaking again left Dean weak. For a little while, he’d wondered if he was helplessly watching his brother drift away in front him…like Dad.

Dean watched Sam narrow his eyes, staring up at him, and he sighed. “Dude.” Dean rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t get the last zombie. We’ll find it.” The question had been plain even without words. When Sam raised a brow at him, he snorted. “Yes, ‘we’. I won’t go after it without you. Would I do that?” The slow roll of Sam’s eyes made him laugh. “Ok, yeah. I would, but not this time.”

Sam closed his eyes and focused on slowing his breathing, shutting down the panic that had taken hold of him. He was fine. The drug was wearing off, and there was certainly no damn reason he should still be crying…but that he seemed unable to stop. “S…sorry.”

“Shut up,” Dean ordered gruffly. He wiped the tears from his brother’s face and didn’t tease him about it. He didn’t even want to imagine the terror of being trapped in your own body forever, and he knew damn well that’s what Sam had been afraid of and why the tears continued to flow now; a release of mind-numbing tension. There was nothing funny about it. He started to shift Sam to one side so he could get him something to drink and stopped as his brother managed to raise one hand and weakly grip his forearm.

“Don’t…d…don’t…” Sam couldn’t articulate the sudden terror as Dean moved away from him, as though, if his brother were to leave him, this would be a dream and he would wake unable to move once more.

Dean didn’t need him to say it to understand it. He nodded and settled back, pulling Sam in once more. “Not going anywhere, little brother.” He felt Sam’s sigh of relief against his chest and rolled his eyes.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was a hoarse whisper and turning his head so he could see his brother’s face was a monumental effort. His muscles were still protesting his control. “We g…go for…ice c-cream…later?” He pulled off the smirk he was aiming for as Dean’s eyes widened and his big brother thumped his head into the wall.

“Bitch,” Dean growled, embarrassed; now sure Sam had heard _every_ word he’d said. “You are such a pain in my ass, Sammy.”

Sam actually managed a small laugh and let his head roll back as the tears finally stopped and he felt safe again. “J…jerk.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

The End.


	11. For SPNmum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For SPN Mum - I would like to see you write something set in season six, after Sam got his soul back. The case is set in a dog shelter, where some monster (your choice) is attacking the volunteers, so Sam goes undercover as a volunteer, while Dean works with the local police. Sam gets attached to one of the dogs, while one of the volunteers gets attached to Sam. The rest is up to you.
> 
> A/N: Here you are dear! Hope you like it! :D My Muse was being anything but cooperative with this one. LOL Thank goodness Janice was around to help unstick me! Enjoy! *hugs*

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Sam stepped into an empty hallway and pulled his phone from his back pocket. He rolled his eyes when he saw the name and answered it. “What, Dean? I’ve only been here for two days. No, I haven’t found anything yet.”

“Whassamatter, Sammy? Undercover work not agreeing with you?” Dean chuckled. “I thought you loved dogs?”

Sam snorted. “I do, but cleaning up after thirty of them is not my idea of how to spend my weekend.” He straightened and smiled as another volunteer came down the hall of the shelter. “No reason you can’t be the one in here waiting to be attacked.”

“I don’t have a soft spot for mangy mutts, and someone’s gotta play nice with the local cops.” Dean grinned. “Have fun scoopin’ poop.”

Sam growled as Dean hung up on him and slipped his phone away. “Jerk.” Something had been attacking volunteers in the dog shelter for over a month. They had ruled out werewolves, which, of course, left a whole slew of things it still could be, including, as Dean had pointed out, a skinwalker posing as a family dog. That had stirred a hazy, vague memory in Sam’s mind, but he really couldn’t nail it down. It still bothered him when he thought about how much missing time he had and couldn’t recall since getting his soul back, but he pushed that thought aside for the moment, since he wasn’t supposed to be poking at those missing memories anyway, and got back to the task at hand. So far, no one had died, but there were now seven volunteers who had been hospitalized with injuries, mostly bites of some sort, and all unable to say what had attacked them before they were knocked out.

Sam smiled to himself and went back into the kennel room; they weren’t Hunters, of course. He was and had several weapons secreted on himself. He smiled wider as many of the dogs in the kennel whined happily at his return. It really wasn’t the worst undercover job ever.

“Hey, Sam!” Melanie waved and smiled at him from the other side of the large room. “Your boyfriend over here needs his shots and won’t come out. Could you…”

Sam nodded and chuckled. “Sure, Mel.” He went and knelt in front of a large cage and peered in at the dog inside. He was a massive Bernese mountain dog and refused to do anything for anyone except Sam. As he looked, he came to the front of the cage and stuck his nose through the bars, giving his knuckles a lick. Sam laughed. “Ok, Murray. We really need to work on your cooperation skills.” He unlatched the cage door and the dog pushed out and into Sam’s space, rubbing his head on Sam’s face.

“He really likes you.” Mel smiled fondly down at the dog that stood as high as her hip. She brushed blonde hair out of her eyes and patted Sam’s shoulder. “Bring him upstairs.”

“No problem. Come on, Murray.” Sam stood and Murray fell in beside his legs, bumping into his knees with every step, and Sam dropped a hand to his head as they went up the stairs behind Melanie.

“He’s been here a month and hasn’t taken to anyone like he has you.” Mel smiled over her shoulder. “You’re really good with the dogs.”

“Thanks.” Sam followed her and waved Murray down the little hall at the top of the stairs, laughing as the big dog pranced to the door and then back to him. “Maybe Murray just has bad taste in people.” He chuckled and Melanie rolled her eyes at him.

“Like you’re a bad person.” Melanie chuckled and pushed open the exam room door.

“Up, Murray.” Sam snapped his fingers at the table, and Murray cheerfully hopped onto a chair and then up onto the metal table where he sat and waggedhis tail hard enough to slap into the wall. He took the dog’s head in his hands and held him steady while Melanie went around behind him to give him his shots. “Good boy. You’re a good boy, aren’t you, buddy?” Truth was, if he thought for one second Dean would not kill him for it, Sam would make sure Murray came with them. He reminded him of Bobby’s dog, and that had been the closest Sam had ever come to having the dog he’d wanted so much growing up. Sam smiled fondly, knowing that Bobby had only gotten that mutt for him in the first place.

“Ok, Murray. All done!” Melanie pulled the needle out of his backside and tossed it in the bin.

Sam ruffed up Murray’s ears and let him down. “I’ll take him back.”

“Oh, Sam! Before I forget.” Melanie smiled and brushed a hand up his arm lightly. “Some of us are going out later. It’s our little monthly get-together.” She laughed and shrugged. “It’s no big deal. Just some drinks at a local bar, if you’re interested. We’d really like it if you joined us.” She brushed his hand with a shy smile. “I’d really like it, but so would the guys, Dave and them. Please?”

Sam considered saying no but he was supposed to be undercover, fitting in. He sighed and smiled. “Sure, Melanie. Sounds like fun.”

“Great!” She clapped her hands together. “You can meet us back here at nine. And Sam? Call me Mel. Melanie makes me sound like my grandmother.”

Sam laughed at that. “Yes, Mel. See you later.” He took Murray out, still chuckling. How bad could it be hanging out with normal people for a night?

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

“So, wait.” Dean raised a hand and stood from where he’d been arguing with the microwave in the motel room. “I’m gonna be stuck on some useless stakeout with the locals while you get to pound back beers in a bar with Do-Me Vet lady? How is this fair?”

Sam chuckled and pulled his shirt on over shower-damp hair. “You’re the one who didn’t want to get stuck cleaning up after dogs all day. Only got yourself to blame.”

Dean sighed and slapped the microwave door shut. “Looks like I’m going on stakeout hungry too.” He glared at his brother’s chuckle. “Keep it up and you’re gonna have a black eye on your date tonight.”

“Dude. It’s not a date.” Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed his jacket. “It’s a bunch of people from the shelter.”

“Uh huh.” Dean chuckled and grabbed his own jacket. “Come on, Sammy. I’ll drop you off at your not-date.” He shoved Sam to the door and ignored the bitch-face.

Dean dropped Sam off with an admonishment to ‘play nice with the other kids’ and left to meet the cops he’d be spending the night with. He sighed. He couldn’t even get lucky enough to have one or two hot chick cops on the op. No, he got stuck with the crusty old badges who actually thought spending a night cramped in a van was a good time. He pulled up outside the police station, and, as he climbed out of the Impala, saw the officers in question waving him over to an unmarked black van. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Subtle.” Dean snorted and jogged over. “Really, guys? You watch too much NYPD Blue ‘cause no one’ll think to look at the totally out-of-place van alone on the street.”

“Like you know anything, rookie.” The oldest of the three officers rolled his eyes at Dean. “Get in the van, kid. Let the professionals show you how it’s done.”

Dean squeezed up into the back of the van with a groan and knew how his evening was going to be spent. “Awesome.” Once more he sincerely wished he hadn’t won the toss on who got to play Fed for this job because the local PD was having way too much ‘making use of him’.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam sat back with his beer and smiled, watching his co-workers toss darts at the board in the back of the bar. There were four of them -- Melanie, Dave, Mike, and Patty. He couldn’t help but see that they were more friends than co-workers. They had that vibe. He raised his beer as Melanie smiled and came over to sit beside him.

“I’ve got winners for next round,” she said and pulled a beer over, taking a long sip. “It’ll be Dave. They can’t beat him…ever.”

Sam chuckled. “So, you guys do this often?”

“Once a month or so, yeah.” Mel smiled and then she frowned slightly. “There used to be more of us, but, what with the attacks and all, I guess it’ll be a while before they feel up to coming back.”

“Some of the victims?” Sam asked, curious, and Mel nodded.

“All of them.” She told him sadly and took another long pull from the beer.

That hit Sam’s radar. “Wait. All the victims of the attacks were part of…of this? Coming out here?”

“Uh huh. Why?” Mel looked at him in confusion. It was an odd sort of question to ask.

“It just seems…I don’t know, coincidental, that’s all. Did anything happen last month?” Sam asked and turned to face her. “Anything out of the ordinary?”

“No. We just drank, played darts…the usual.” Mel waved a hand at the board. “Sean got a little too plastered to be playing and missed the board.” She chuckled. “Bar owner was kinda pissed when he tossed a dart into one of his prized masks.” She gestured to the wall behind the dart board and Sam got up for a better look. He went past the guys playing and looked at the wall. It was covered in tribal masks from several places around the world he could name and more that he didn’t recognize.

“Creepy, huh?” Mel said at his elbow. She pointed to one particular mask in the middle. “See the little hole between the eyes?” She chuckled. “That’s where Sean hit his bulls-eye.”

The mask was made of some dark, nearly black wood. Indigo feathers ran across the top and, below it, the face of some beast had been delicately carved with its jaws opened wide to reveal rows of sharpened teeth. Between its eyes was a small hole from the dart and Sam got a bad feeling.

“Creepy, huh?” Mel laughed and gave his arm a tug. “Come on. I think Dave’s about to hand Patty’s ass to her.”

Sam let himself be pulled away. He waited until Mel was up shooting and volunteered to get another round. He made his way through the crowd to the bar and waved down the bartender. “Hey. We need another round of beers over there.” He waved at the table and smiled as the bartended started stacking bottles in front of him. “I don’t suppose the owner’s around, is he?”

“What do you wanna talk to him for?” The bartended set the last beer down and took the money Sam gave him.

“I wanted to ask about his mask collection.” Sam shrugged and smiled. “They’re really interesting. I was hoping I could ask him about them.”

The bartender’s face darkened and he leaned on the bar toward Sam. “I’m the owner, and if you’re with them, I got nothing to say to you.” He glared over at the other shelter employees and Sam’s bad feeling strengthened.

“Right. Uh, thanks.” He gathered up the beers and walked away. Sam would have sworn he could feel the man’s eyes boring into his back as he went. He set them down on the table and looked over his shoulder; sure enough the owner was still watching him with that dangerous look. “Great,” Sam groaned. He made himself sit through the next hour of drinking, dart-throwing and Mel flirting with him before he finally convinced one of the guys to drive him back to the motel, much to Melanie’s dismay.

Sam went into the motel room with a relieved sigh and shut the door, leaning against it as he took out his phone and dialed Dean to tell him what he’d found.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean groaned. He’d done a lot of that the last four hours as they sat on their useless stakeout. He knew damn well something supernatural was behind the attacks, not a third-rate car thief with a history of girlfriend beating. He rolled his eyes as his partners for the night giggled at yet another joke older than he was. He’d stopped paying attention an hour ago. Dean jumped when his phone rang in his pocket and he fished it out.

“Hope that ain’t your wife callin’, kid.” Officer Jacks grinned over at him with a knowing look.

“Naw, probably his girlfriend.” Officer Gregson piped up and smirked. “Wife doesn’t know about her probably.”

“Har har. You guys are hilarious.” Dean rolled his eyes and answered his phone. “Hey, Sam.”

“Oooh, Sam!” Gregson made a ridiculous, high-school girl worthy ‘woo woo’ sound that made Dean growl. “So he’s battin’ for the other team, boys!”

“Holy crap,” Dean groaned and stood in the cramped space. “I think the FBI’s got all it needs here.” He rushed out the back of the van as the guys yelled after and slammed the door shut with a sigh of relief for the silence. He put his phone back to his ear and heard his brother chuckling. “Dude, you do not wanna piss me off right now. Do you KNOW how I’ve spent the night?”

Sam did his best to smother his laugh as the frustration level in his brother’s voice rose. “Then this oughta make you happy. I think I know what started the attacks.”

“Oh, please tell me I get to go shoot something now,” Dean walked away from the van, thankful he was only a few blocks from the police station and his baby.

“Not yet.” Sam tossed his jacket on the far bed and went to the table, pulling over his laptop. “There’s this creepy mask in the bar they took me to tonight.”

“Remind you of an old girlfriend?” Dean asked and smirked.

“Would you shut up?” Sam growled and sat. He quickly told Dean what little he had learned and knew he was paying attention when the smart-ass comments stopped. “I’m thinking, whatever’s coming after them is because of that mask. Either it’s cursed or…”

“Or the asshole owner got pissed and he’s out for revenge. Got it.” Dean turned a corner and saw the station in the distance. “You get a pic of it?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna see if I can find it online somewhere.” Sam booted the laptop and kicked one of his shoes off. “Shouldn’t have a problem finding something that unusual.”

Dean strode down the street and nodded. “I’ll be back in ten.” His stomach growled and he smirked. “Make that twenty. I need food.” He listened to Sam snort a laugh and stopped walking when he heard him gasp. “Sam?” There was no answer, but a moment a later he heard the sound of something heavy crashing and then a clatter as Sam’s phone dropped and went dead. “Sammy?” Dean broke into a run. He sprinted the last three blocks to the police station, ignoring the burning in his lungs and the stitch in his side while fear clenched his heart.

Dean slapped into the side of the Impala and wrenched the door open, throwing himself behind the wheel and squealed heedlessly out of the precinct’s parking lot. He tried to reign in his gasping breaths and fumbled his phone out again, dialing Sam’s. “Shit!” Dean cursed as it went to voicemail. “Come on. Come on!” He ran a red light and took a corner, leaving a terrified hobo in his wake as every bad thing he could think of happening to his little brother in his absence avalanched through his mind.

The Impala screeched to a stop outside the motel, and Dean rushed from the car to the door, drawing his gun. He tried the knob and found it locked. “Dammit, Sam.” He pulled the keycard out of his pocket with shaking fingers and unlocked the door. Dean took a breath to steady himself and kicked the door in, leading with his gun.

“Sam?” Dean eased into the room and saw the chair toppled over at the table and Sam’s cellphone lying on the floor beside it. The bathroom door was closed and Dean went to it cautiously. He turned the knob and slapped the door open and stared. “Sammy?” He put his gun away and was beside his brother, who was bent over the toilet, in a heartbeat. “Sam.” Dean laid a hand on the back of his neck and flushed the vomit away with a wrinkle of his nose. “Dude, you alright?”

Sam raised his head wearily and nodded.

“What happened?” Dean asked and pulled Sam’s shoulder back so he could get a look at his face. The panic was slowly ebbing to be replaced by concern as he saw the pale face and haunted eyes Sam turned up to him. It felt like a punch to the gut as realization hit him; the gasp, the overturned chair, and a pale little brother heaving his guts up. “Shit, Sam. You were scratchin’ at the damn wall again.”

“No. No, I wasn’t. Swear.” Sam rubbed a hand over his face and tried to get control of himself.

Dean worked to swallow the guilt that his brother had been seizing on the floor again and he hadn’t been there. “Alright, come on. You done?” Sam nodded and Dean pulled him up, reassuring himself that Sam was alive and well, if not a hundred percent. He waited while Sam washed his mouth out and then steered him back into the room and shoved him down on the side of his bed. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?” Sam cupped a hand over his forehead. His head was splitting with pain, like the last time it had happened, and he had to swallow hard against the urge to whimper.

“What do I…dude, don’t play stupid,” Dean growled. He went to his duffel and dug out the bottle of painkillers he’d grabbed after the last time. He shook two out, tossing it back, and snagged a bottle of water from the nightstand. “Here. Don’t argue. You look like shit.”

Sam smirked. “Thanks a lot.” He studied the contained anger and fear on his brother’s face and sighed. “Fine.” He swallowed the pills and grabbed the water. “I just…I was looking at the mask, the picture, and…” Sam narrowed his eyes, staring at nothing as he tried to pull the jumble of memories he’d recovered into focus. It hadn’t been like last time. Last time, weeks of his time in the Cage had cascaded through his mind and overwhelmed him. This time, it had been himself he’d seen, but not tortured…cold, analytical. The feel of being in his mind had been, and still was, terrifying. He couldn’t imagine what it had been like for Dean having to walk around with his soulless self all those months.

“Hey!” Dean took his brother’s shoulders and shook him hard. Sam jerked with a gasp and met his eyes. Dean heaved a relieved breath. “You back?” It had looked like Sam was on the verge of another seizure again, his eyes distant, vacant, and staring.

“Huh? I…yeah. Sorry.” Sam shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the pressure. “It was the mask. I…I didn’t get much back,” he lied smoothly, not wanting to add to the burden Dean already carried where he was concerned. “Just flashes. There was another mask like the one at the bar.” He rubbed his head and cracked his eyes to look over at his brother who still knelt worriedly in front of him. “It was used to summon a creature, I think. Didn’t exactly get all the details back.”

“Good,” Dean said firmly and rose. “We’ll figure it out without breakin’ your head.”

“Dean, I’m fine.” Sam stood, pleased when he barely swayed, and went to the table and his laptop. “It has to be the bar owner. That guy was seriously bent over the shelter employees. Gave me the evil-eye too.”

Dean scowled, not amused by the implicit threat from some hinkey bar owner. He glanced at his watch. “Bar’s probably closed now. I’ll go have a look around.”

“I’m coming,” Sam stood quickly and held up a hand. “There’s no point in arguing with me, Dean. I’m fine and I’m coming. You think I’m letting you go in there without backup?”

Dean growled and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Come on then.” He consoled himself knowing he could at least keep an eye on his brother if he was with him. “You stay behind me.”

Sam smirked at having gotten his way with so little argument and followed him out to the car. He wished the painkillers would kick in soon so he could focus on the job instead of the mariachi band behind his eyes. He climbed into the Impala and gave Dean the directions.

“Where’d you leave the rest of the Scooby gang?” Dean asked as he drove.

Sam chuckled. “Probably all home sleeping it off by now.”

Dean pulled up behind the darkened bar and got out, giving it a look. There were no lights on anywhere, and he hoped the run-down appearance of the place meant the owner hadn’t sprung for security. He raised a brow as Sam went for the trunk. “You got a plan?”

Sam popped it open and pulled up the secret compartment. “From what little I remember, salt and fire will purify the mask and render the summoned creature inert.”

“Inert?” Dean took the can of salt Sam handed him and stuck a hand in his pocket, making sure his Zippo was there. “What exactly does that mean?”

“Either dead or sent back where it came from, I guess.” Sam shrugged and closed the trunk. “Either way, it’ll be gone.” He led the way to the building and held up the big bottle of lighter fluid. “I vote we torch them all just to be sure the owner can’t summon something else.”

“Like the way you think, Sammy,” Dean grinned and bent to the lock. He rolled his eyes and pulled an old credit card from his back pocket. “When are people gonna learn these locks don’t do crap?”

Sam chuckled as Dean quickly popped the latch and eased the door open. “Hopefully never or our job’ll get harder.” He pulled his gun as Dean did and entered the darkened back room. Sam took out a flashlight, flicking it on. He opened the door into the bar and nodded to Dean. “Emergency lights are on.” Small, white lights in the corners gave a dim illumination through the bar’s main room. “Looked bigger when I was here earlier.”

Dean went toward the bar and pointed. “That them?” He eyed the wall of tribal masks and snorted. “That’s one hell of a collection of creepy.”

“It’s that one.” Sam went around the end of the bar and shined his light on the dark mask with the hole between the eyes. He took it off the wall carefully and couldn’t shake the feeling its empty eyes were looking at him.

“What the hell you think you’re doing in here?”

Dean spun at the growling, angry voice and raised his gun at the man near the back door. “This the owner?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “We know what you’ve been doing to the shelter employees.” He held up the mask and watched the bar owner’s eyes narrow angrily.

“I haven’t done anything.” The man shrugged and smiled. “Not my fault if something else decided they make tasty snacks.”

“Seriously, dude?” Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m holding a gun on you and you’re getting cute about almost killing a bunch of people. Not smart.”

“Maybe I know I have an ace in the hole.” The owner grinned.

Dean jerked around as Sam shouted and saw something large tackle his brother behind the bar. “Sam!” He dropped the salt can to the floor and spun back to the owner, stopping the man feet away and cocked his gun. “Call it off.”

“Or what?” The bar owner sneered.

Dean cocked his head to the side hearing a pained shout from his brother and took a breath. He lowered the muzzle of the gun and shot the owner in the knee. “Or that.” Dean said as he screamed on the floor.

“Sammy!” Dean ran to the bar and jumped to slide across the top. A large, furred animal crouched over his brother, and he could see it straining to snap powerful jaws past the grip Sam had on its throat. “Shit!”

“Dean!” Sam dug his fingers into the creature’s throat to hold it off him and growled with the effort as drool spattered on his face and neck. “Mask!”

Dean scooped up Sam’s fallen flashlight and shined it around the floor. He spotted the mask next to Sam’s kicking feet and dove for it. His first instinct was to tear the creature off his brother, but he reigned it in; Sam was right. Destroy the mask and they wouldn’t have to worry about it. He slapped it up onto the bar and swore; he’d left the salt can on the other side of the room.

“Dude…it’s a….it’s a bar!” Sam shouted, knowing what his brother was looking for.

“What? Oh…oh, yeah.” Dean grinned sheepishly and bent, searching. He found a round, plastic box he knew was the margarita rimming kit and grabbed it; cracked the lid open and upended the rough grains of salt over the mask. “Hang on!” Dean turned and plucked the highest proof bottle of whiskey he could find off the back wall and pulled the pour stopper out. “Such a waste.” He took a hefty swing from the bottle and then poured a few drops of it over the mask and the salt then dragged his Zippo out of his pocket.

“Any…time…now!” Sam gasped and had to turn his head or risk losing his nose from the snapping jaws as his arms began to weaken.

Dean spun the wheel on the Zippo and touched the flame to the little pools of whiskey. They burst to life and caught the salt. A moment later the mask was engulfed in a blue flame that rose up from the bar with a ‘whoosh’. Dean turned to his brother and bent to grab the creature’s back legs and pull it off balance.

“Shit!” Dean danced back a step as the creature spun suddenly atop Sam and growled at him. He pulled his gun from his back, aimed at its head and grinned as it screamed and went up in a ball of blue flame. “Nice! You still in one piece?” He bent over his brother and took the outstretched arm, tugging Sam to his feet and frowned as he hunched over his side.

“Mostly.” Sam groaned and looked over at the bar owner who was still writhing on the floor and curled around his bleeding knee. “What are we gonna do about him?”

“Burn the rest of his toys and leave him to it.” Dean guided Sam out from behind the bar and shoved him onto a stool. “Lemme look.” He pulled Sam’s jacket away from his side and hissed in a breath at the bloody slashes in his flannel. “Think you were supposed to duck there, sasquatch.”

Sam snorted. “I’ll try to remember that next time. Ow!” He jumped when Dean pressed into the wounds and brushed his hands away. “Knock it off and go do something useful.”

Dean chuckled and reached into Sam’s pocket, taking out the lighter fluid. “Ya big baby.” He went and grabbed his can of salt from the floor with a sneer for the now whimpering owner and went to the wall.

“Dude, you can’t just burn them on the wall…” Sam started but Dean was already spraying salt across the masks.

“All of a sudden, I’m not feelin’ that charitable,” Dean growled and glanced again at his brother’s blood on his fingers. Hurt Sam and pay the price, he thought to himself and smiled grimly as he set the salt aside and started squirting lighter fluid; making sure to hit each mask.

“Oh, boy,” Sam groaned and stood. He went over to the owner and stared down at him. The man was reduced to panting on the floor, only half-conscious. Sam knelt beside him. “Who was next on the list? Hey!” He nudged his leg, earning a loud groan of pain. “Who were you sending it after next?”

“I al…already did.” He grinned up at Sam in spite of his pain. “You’re too late.”

“Son of a bitch.” Sam breathed and stood. “Dean! He says he already sent it after someone at the shelter. We have to get over there!”

Dean held the lit Zippo out to the wall and grinned as flames caught and spread upward. “Let’s go.” He put it away, turned around and glared down at the owner who was getting a panicked look on his face watching the flames spread quickly over the wall. Winning an inner argument with the darker side of himself that wanted to just leave the guy there, Dean snorted in disgust. “Suppose we could drag his sorry ass out to the parking lot.” Dean strode over to the owner and grabbed an arm, dragging him toward the back door while he howled in pain. “Serves you right, asshole.”

They dragged him out into the parking lot and left him lying by the dumpster as they climbed into the Impala. Dean pulled his door shut just as the flames reached the alcohol in the bar. The back door of the bar flew off in a wash of flames and smoke, narrowly missing the end of the car.

Sam smirked. “Should have parked further away.”

Dean breathed out a breath. “That was too close, baby.” He rubbed a hand over the dash and pulled away, glancing over at his brother squirming in the seat while he tried to get a look at his wounds. “You gonna live?”

Sam snorted and hissed in a pained breath. “Probably.” He pressed his jacket over his side and made himself sit still. “Doesn’t actually hurt that much.” He smirked. “Painkillers are still working.”

Dean rolled his eyes, not believing him for a second, but set it aside and sped toward the shelter. “Was anyone supposed to be there tonight?”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “Far as I know, they all went home after the bar but he said…”

“Nothin’ you can do about it, Sammy,” Dean reassured him. “You couldn’t have known. We get lucky, he called fugly back to attack you before it was finished.”

Sam nodded and sincerely hoped that one of the people he’d worked with wasn’t bleeding out on the floor. His eyes widened in surprise as they pulled up to the shelter a few minutes later and saw a police cruiser and ambulance outside. “Oh, man.”

“Damn.” Dean pulled up behind one of the cruisers and sighed as Sam was already out of the car and heading for the ambulance.

“Hey! What’s happened?” Sam asked the first officer he found. “I work here. What’s going on?”

“Woman was attacked inside.” The cop said and smiled. “She’s gonna be ok.”

“Can I see her? Please?” Sam asked and nodded in relief as the cop waved him to the ambulance. Sam kept his jacket pulled over his bloody side and climbed carefully into the back of the ambulance. He groaned when he saw who it was. “Melanie? Are you alright?”

“Sam!” Melanie looked up at him tearfully and smiled. She reached out the arm not encased in bandages to him. “Oh, my god. Are you alright? Did it get you too?”

“What? No, no I’m fine.” Sam smiled and sat next to her. “What happened?”

“This…I don’t even know. Some strange sort of dog, I guess.” Melanie closed her eyes. “I can’t imagine how it got in. It just…it jumped me, and I thought…” Her breath started to hitch. “…I thought it was going to kill me.”

Sam squeezed her hand. “You’re alright now.”

Melanie nodded and looked up at him again. “It was Murray.” Her smile widened. “He broke the door to his cage and he saved me.” She squeezed Sam’s hand back. “He got the…the thing off of me and then stood over me and growled at it until it went away.”

Sam grinned and laughed. “Told you he was a good dog.”

She laughed as well. “You did. Soon as I get out of the hospital, he’s coming home with me. My hero.”

“Glad to hear it. Listen, take care of yourself, Mel.” Sam leaned down and put a kiss on her forehead. He climbed out of the ambulance before she could ask him any questions and went back to the Impala where his brother waited.

“Who was it?” Dean asked as Sam eased back into the seat.

“Mel. She’s fine.” Sam smiled and settled back with a groan. “Murray saved her.”

“Murray?” Dean raised a brow and backed out of the lot. “It’s a dog, isn’t it?”

Sam chuckled. “He’s bigger than you.” He looked over and smirked. “Like me.”

“Shut up, sasquatch.” Dean growled and headed for their motel. “Just for that, I’m disinfecting those claw marks with whiskey.”

Sam laughed and shook his head, leaning back. “Won’t be the first time.”

“Yeah, well…this time I’m salting ‘em first.” Dean glared over at him as he laughed. “Keep laughin’, fun boy. I’ll really make it hurt.” He watched Sam press his arm into his side as he chuckled while keeping a wary eye on Dean in case he decided to a throw a punch. Dean smirked. It settled him to have Sam laughing and alert beside him after the scare earlier in the evening, wounded or not. Even so, in the interests of reminding Sam who the big brother was, Dean steered over the deepest pothole he could find and snorted a laugh when Sam doubled over, groaned and called him an ass. “Suck it up, princess.”

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_The End._


	12. For AlxM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For AlxM – Knowing Dean will never say yes, the Angels resurrect a Winchester they think will, Dad. John forgives Dean his part in the apocalypse but is less than charitable to Sam. John gets drunk, loses control and takes it out on Sam. Few days later, drunk John begins to remember after a hunt gone wrong and Sam injured in hospital. Some apologies, awesome Dean defending his brother, happy ending. (This prompt reduced to high points for excessive length Lol I’ll post the complete prompt at the end of the chapter)
> 
> A/N: So, some AU fun in season 5 which will include some abusive!John as requested in the prompt. :D

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Dean stared out the window of Bobby’s truck and sighed. He should be happy, he knew that, and yet he couldn’t make himself not feel as if something was very wrong with the world. Their father was back in the land of the living. According to Castiel, once the angels had decided Dean was never going to say ‘yes’ to Michael, they’d resurrected a Winchester they thought would -- John. Dean snorted softly; Morons.

“You alright over there, son?” Bobby gave Dean a side-long glance. He’d been more quiet than normal since their dad had been brought back to the land of the living which told Bobby he was worried about something.

“Fine,” Dean replied and kept his eyes out the window. He got enough of that question from Sam the last week. The only person who didn’t seem to feel the need to poke at him was Dad. He scowled. Dad had easily forgiven Dean for his part in sparking the apocalypse, but Sam…He’d seen the looks his dad had given him and they made him grind his teeth. It was clear that John thought Dean had failed him, that he should have kept his word and actually killed his little brother before the apocalypse had been allowed to start.

“You break my door, you’re puttin’ a new one in,” Bobby said suddenly, startling Dean as he heard the plastic on the door begin to squeal under the pressure of Dean’s grip.

“Sorry.” Dean let go of the handle and took a deep breath. “Just thinking.”

“Yeah, well, think a little softer.” Bobby rolled his eyes. It had taken both him and Sam to convince Dean to go on a supply run with him. Sam had been insistent that he and their father needed time to…readjust to each other. Dean had put up a hell of a fight and finally only conceded to shut them both up. “They’ll be fine.”

Dean said nothing. How could he possibly tell Bobby that before he’d died, John had ordered him to kill his brother to prevent this whole mess if he couldn’t stop him? Worse yet, how could he possibly tell Bobby that he wasn’t so certain that, now that John was back, he wouldn’t try to take it upon himself to do what Dean never would be able to bring himself to do in some crazy attempt to keep things from going from bad to worse. Bobby wouldn’t just wave the shotgun at his Dad this time; he’d flat out shoot him with it. “How long we gonna be gone?”

“We’ll be back by morning.” Bobby sighed and looked over at him. “You can always call him.”

“Yeah. I will.” Dean went back to staring out the window and trying not to think the bad thoughts that kept popping into his head. Sam could take care of himself.

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Sam set his book aside with a sigh and stretched on his bed. His dad had been pretty clear earlier that he wanted to be alone, and Sam had escaped to his room to read instead. He thumped his head back against the wall, frustrated. There was something between them, and he feared he knew what it was, even though his father hadn’t said it. Sam had jump started the apocalypse, the thing Dad had warned Dean about right before his death. Not for the first time, part of him wished Dean had listened. So many lives would have been saved if Dean had only been able to do what Dad had asked of him.

He shook his head and threw his legs off the bed to the floor. The past was the past, and he was well aware Dean wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he had. “Dammit,” Sam muttered. “This is stupid.” He truly was amazed and glad to have his father back. He wanted to get past this. That was why he’d made Dean go with Bobby after all. Sam stood and went out, determined to get his father to talk to him. He jogged down the stairs and turned into the living room and then stopped.

John sat behind Bobby’s desk and was pouring himself another mug of whiskey as Sam watched. Beside him was another bottle, empty, and Sam began to rethink his timing. He took a step back to go back upstairs.

“Sam.” John said softly.

Sam froze and silently cursed to himself. He should have just stayed upstairs. “Hey, Dad.” He said instead and hoped for the best.

John stared at his youngest son and scowled as he tossed back a shot of whiskey and then poured himself another. “Come’re,” He ordered and stood. He was well drunk at that point and should probably have just poured himself in bed, but Sam was here now and, dammit, they were going to have this out. He’d been swallowing the anger back since that damn angel had told him what was happening.

Sam took a few steps into the room and found he was nervous. Dad drunk had never been a good thing when he was a kid; he tended to yell and throw things. Dean had always grabbed him and made them scarce until Dad was sober again. He stopped and shook his head. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll…”

“Afraid of what I’ll say, Sammy?” John asked angrily and advanced on his son, taking a swig from the bottle. Some small voice in the back of his mind was saying to put the bottle down and walk away, but he was too far gone to listen. “You know what you did.”

“Dad, I…” Sam looked down at his feet as the familiar guilt swelled over him and made his heart ache. “I didn’t know.”

“Not an excuse.” John glared over at him and stood in front of his much taller son. “You know what they told me, Sam? What that…that angel told me?” John fisted a hand in the front of Sam’s t-shirt and shook him. “Demon blood. You drank demon blood!” He shoved Sam back a step but kept his grip, distantly surprised that Sam didn’t just throw him off. “How are you even human anymore?”

Sam flinched as if struck. Dean and Bobby would never say it to him, he knew, but that was how he felt…all the time. It was this sick feeling in his gut that told him he wasn’t completely human anymore…couldn’t be. “I don’t know,” Sam whispered, but his father didn’t seem to hear him, taking another long drink from his whiskey bottle.

“My son.” John stared at his chest as the anger washed through him. “Mary’s baby.” He choked a little on her name and looked back up at his face. “Do you know what your mother would think of you? She died for you!” He pretended he couldn’t see the instant pain in Sam’s eyes or feel the way his chest trembled under his fist. “This is what she died for. A demon-blood-drinking freak who popped the cork on the damn apocalypse!” He didn’t even realize he’d swung until he was looking down at him.

Sam pushed up so he was sitting against the wall and rubbed his fingers over the side of his mouth, coming away with blood. It didn’t hurt like he thought it should, but at that moment, he was numb. He let his father grab his shirt and pull him back to his feet, going without a fight.

John had gone to hell, escaped, gone back and been rescued and then to hear the things Sam had done…it was all too much. “I warned Dean!” He hit Sam again, unable to stop himself. “I warned him that if he couldn’t save you…”

“Dad, he did. He saved me. He did!” Sam wouldn’t let his brother be taken down with him in their father’s eyes. “He was there at the end. He tried so hard, Dad!”

“Not hard enough!” John shouted. “I never should have asked him. I should have done it myself as soon as I knew!”

Sam saw it coming and let it, wincing as the mostly empty bottle of whiskey hit the side of his head and he went down to the floor with his head spinning. “Dad…please.”

“Shut up, Sam!” John shouted at him. He looked at the neck of the whiskey bottle in his hand. Sam hazily followed his gaze, dully wondering how much it would hurt to feel the jagged shards of glass slice into his throat and what it would do to Dean to come home to find him like that. John stared at the remnants of the bottle a moment longer and threw it aside with a growl. “Dammit!” He left Sam sitting there and went in search of more, forgetting in his whiskey-haze what he’d been doing.

Sam crawled out of the room into the hall and used the wall to regain his feet. He spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor and went for the stairs. Inside, he was just numb. He had nothing left. Dad’s shots had all been aimed perfectly. He staggered upstairs and into the bathroom. Sam flicked the light on as he shut the door and leaned on the sink, spitting more blood into the basin. He looked up into the mirror and stared at himself. He was deathly pale except for the blood on his lips and the bruise already starting at the corner of his mouth. He ran a hand over the back of his head and flinched as he found a piece of whiskey bottle and pulled the glass free from his scalp.

He grabbed the towel off the wall and pressed it over his head. He felt hollowed out. Sam groaned and left the bathroom, going to his room instead. He stretched out on his bed with a thump and stared at Dean’s empty bed wishing he’d never convinced his brother to leave for the night. And then took it back. He’d deserved it, every blow and more. Sam closed his eyes and wished for sleep to take him.

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John jerked awake on the couch and covered his eyes from the glare of early morning light coming in the living room window. “Fuck.” He rolled off the couch and stood, holding his head in his hands for a moment. “Ok. No more whiskey. Damn.” He looked around the room and rolled his eyes at the sight of broken glass over the floor and books shoved from the top of Bobby’s desk.

“Good job, John. He leaves you alone in his house for one night and you have a damn bender.” John shook his head and went to the kitchen, grabbing a broom and dustpan. If he was lucky, he could get it all cleaned up before Bobby and Dean got back. He glanced up the stairs as he passed and was grateful Sam had slept through it. He narrowed his eyes as he knelt beside the broken glass. He couldn’t actually remember last night. He hoped Sam had slept through it. He snorted. If Sam had woken up, he’d have quietly cleaned the mess. He was like that. He always had been; picking up after him when he had ‘bad Dad’ moments.

John sighed sadly for all the times he’d failed his sons, even if he wasn’t feeling particularly charitable toward Sam just then. That made him scowl as he swept the last of the glass up and went back to the kitchen, dumping it out. A flash of anger welled up at the thought of his youngest son. He quickly squashed it. Sooner or later he’d have to talk to Sam about it, but he wasn’t ready yet.

“Shit!” John ran and looked out the window as he heard the sound of Bobby’s truck rumbling toward the house. He ran back to the living room and quickly stacked all the books back on the desk then dashed down the hall to the bathroom and a shower. He could smell the whiskey on himself like he’d bathed in it and needed to wash off the evidence before anyone found out how he’d spent the night.

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Dean climbed out of Bobby’s truck and looked up at the house. He wasn’t sure why, but he had a bad feeling. “I’m gonna check on Sam.” He told Bobby and jogged up the steps and went inside. He came in the front door and heard the downstairs shower running. Dean figured that would be their dad and headed for the stairs. His boot slipped in something on the floor and he looked down. The first stab of fear hit him in the chest as he realized it was a small puddle of congealed blood.

“Oh, shit,” Dean breathed. He ran up the stairs, taking the corner in a slide and down the hall. He threw open the door to their room and then stopped to reign in his breathing. Sam was in his bed where he should be. He frowned. Sam was on top of the covers and still in his clothes from yesterday. That wasn’t right. Dean went to the bed and sat carefully down next to his hip. “Sammy?” He wrinkled his nose. “Damn, dude. Did you tie one on last night?” The smell of stale whiskey was powerful. “Sam! Wake up already!” Dean banged his shoulder.

Sam startled awake with Dean’s voice. “Dean?” He raised a hand to rub over his face and rolled to sit up. He sniffed at his shoulder and groaned, smelling the whiskey. “Yeck.”

“Thought you wanted to talk to Dad, not drown your sorrows,” Dean said and smirked. He stood, letting the light from the window fall on Sam and gasped. “Holy shit!” He grabbed his brother’s head and turned his face so he could see it better. “What the hell happened to you?”

Sam stared like a deer in headlights for a moment as the night before came back to him. “Dean, it’s nothing. I’m fine.” He ducked away from his brother’s hands and headed for the door only to be stopped as Dean grabbed his arm and held him still. Sam cringed as Dean’s hand landed on the back of his head.

“Nothing’s why your hair’s matted with blood back here?” Dean spun him around and glared. “You tell me what the hell happened, Sam. Now!” He watched his brother’s face and saw sorrow and pain slide into his eyes as Sam tugged his arm free and backed away. “Son of a bitch,” Horror fell into Dean’s gut. “Dad did this, didn’t he? Don’t you lie to me, Sam.”

Sam shook his head. He reached behind him and closed the door, knowing he wasn’t going to get out of this. “Dean, it’s not what you think, alright?” He kept his place in front of the door because he could see the tightening across his brother’s shoulders that said he was a moment away from running downstairs and doing something they’d all regret. “We did talk. We talked.” He didn’t see the need in telling Dean what their father had said. “I…I pissed him off. I mean, he was already mad and he has every right. You know that.” He stopped and looked at Dean, silently begging him to understand. “I asked for this. It’s not…it’s not Dad’s fault.”

“Not his fault, my ass!” Dean barely kept his voice from a shout. “He made you bleed! I’ll kill him!”

Sam grabbed his brother as he made for the door and pushed him back. “Dean, no! Please!” He held up his hands in the face of Dean’s fury. “Dean, this is my second chance with Dad. I…he had to get it out of his system…what I did.” Sam stopped and had to suck in a breath as his father’s words from last night crushed him a little more. “If you go down there and…and stand up for me, you’ll ruin any chance I have of making this right with him. Dean, please.” Sam begged. It was all he had. Dean had a blind spot where he was concerned, even now, even after the demon blood, Ruby, and Lillith. It was still there. It was strained, but for him, Dean would run their own father out of the house for hurting him.

“I need this, Dean. Please just…let it go.” Sam asked more softly. “It’s not gonna happen again. I think…I think we’ll be better now. Please. Give me this.”

Dean snarled angrily, staring at the bruise on his brother’s mouth and the hair sticking up on the back of his head from the blood. He knew what had done that; a whiskey bottle. That’s why Sam reeked of it. He looked up at Sam’s eyes and some of the anger flowed away at the pleading he found there. Sam really did want to have a chance at making things right with Dad, even if it meant taking a beating. He turned and kicked the end of Sam’s bed. How many times had he taken a swing at his brother over something? But it didn’t make this alright. Dad could have killed him with that bottle if he’d hit a little lower.

Dean sucked in a few breaths to calm himself and finally looked back at Sam who had remained silent to let him think. That pleading was still in his eyes along with something else Dean couldn’t define but it made him hurt just to see it. “Alright, Sam,” Dean said at last and saw his brother heave out a breath in relief. “I’ll keep my mouth shut for now, but if he raises a hand to you again, all bets are off. You got me? You don’t lie to me. Not about this.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I promise.” He managed a weak smile. “I’m gonna go clean up.” He opened the door and turned back to look at Dean. “You promise. You’re going to leave this alone.”

“Dammit, yes, Sam. I promise.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Go shower already. You smell like the floor of a bar.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Sam left and went to the bathroom, closing the door and leaned against it. He felt weak and empty and was glad Dean hadn’t been able to see that. He heard his brother’s footsteps stop outside the door and rolled his eyes. Sam went to the shower and quickly turned it on before Dean came in to check on him.

Dean listened to the shower come on and sighed. He went back downstairs and found Bobby at the bottom. “Hey.”

“How’s our boy?” Bobby shifted the bag he carried and scowled at the expression on Dean’s face.

“He’s…he’s fine.” Dean took the bag from him. “Rolled out of bed last night and hit his damn head.”

“Hey guys.” John smiled at his son as he came down the hall, toweling his hair dry. “How’d it go?”

“Good,” Bobby said and made himself scarce. Something was going on; he just wasn’t sure what. “I’ll get the rest.”

John clapped a hand to Dean’s shoulder and looked up the stairs with a frown. “Sam still sleeping? You should go wake him up.” He headed into the kitchen, in desperate need of coffee.

Dean stared at his father’s back. “I did,” He said in a tight voice. “He didn’t look so hot. You guys have words last night?” He’d promised Sam he wouldn’t go after their dad. He didn’t promise not to try and get Dad to fess up to it on his own.

“Huh?” John looked over his shoulder with a frown. “No?”

“You don’t sound sure about that.” Dean watched him fiddle with the coffee maker and frowned.

“Well, I mean unless he came down after I p…fell asleep.” John shrugged and poured water into the machine.

Dean shook his head slowly. The son of a bitch actually didn’t remember last night; he’d gotten that drunk. He resisted the urge to shake some sense into his father. “Yeah, well, smells like whiskey in here this morning. How about you lay off the bottle for a while?” Dean turned and left, not waiting to hear what he had to say. He didn’t trust himself.

“Everything alright, son?” Bobby asked as he came back in with another bag.

“Yeah. It’s awesome.” Dean sighed and glanced back in the kitchen. “Think maybe you could find me and Sam a job? Just, uh…get them outta each other’s way for a day or two.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” Bobby watched Dean head back upstairs and looked into the kitchen at John who was waiting for the coffee to brew. He went in and dropped his bag on the table. “Somethin’ go on here last night?”

“No. Why’s everyone keep asking that?” John rolled his eyes. “Can’t a guy just sleep in once in a while?”

“Right.” Bobby waved at the bags. “Put those away why don’tcha while you’re waitin’ for that to brew.” He headed into his living room, noting the shifted piles of books on his desk and the over-clean floor. “Hmmph.” He sat at his desk and opened his laptop, pulling up his email. If Dean wanted to get out of his dad’s way for a bit, he could do that. There’d been nothing but tension between John and his youngest since he’d come back. Lord knew he had his own issues with the choices Sam had made, but he knew things John didn’t and, unlike him, Bobby had been here for the long haul. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of Sam getting a break from the constant tension of being in the same house with the man.

“Somethin’ simple,” Bobby muttered and pulled up an alert from a fellow Hunter about a haunting in the next state over. “Salt and burn oughta do it.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

John sat on the hood of a broken down Camaro in the junkyard lot and sipped from his beer. He’d had the whiskey bottle in his hand and then set it aside when the idea seemed to turn his stomach. The boys had pretty much run out yesterday not long after Dean got back with Bobby, and he wondered if he’d said something to Sam while drunk. Hell, he hadn’t even seen Sam leave; just the back of his head in the passenger seat of the Impala as they drove away.

“Dammit.” John looked back at the house as he heard the door open.

“Winchester! Get over here!” Bobby yelled.

“Aw, what the hell?” John groaned and slid off the hood, walking over to meet Bobby at his truck. “What?”

“Dean just called.” Bobby tossed John his jacket, took his beer and tossed that out into the yard to break. “Somethin’ went wrong on that job. Sam’s in the hospital.”

“What?” John’s world seemed to tilt around him. “How…how bad is it?”

“Bad enough. Get in.” Bobby climbed behind the wheel and revved the engine while John dashed around the front and hastily got in.

“It was just a salt and burn!” John said as Bobby spun gravel out of the junkyard. “They can do that in their damn sleep. What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know. Dean wasn’t in any condition to give me details.” Bobby looked over at him and saw the fear warring with irritation on his face. “Don’t you give that boy crap when we get there,” He warned darkly. “You didn’t hear him. Whatever happened, he’s scared to death about his brother right now.”

Bobby was thankful it was only a three hour drive. John was close to climbing the walls by the time they pulled up outside the hospital. Dean hadn’t been answering his cell during the drive and that hadn’t helped the stress level of either man. John was out of the truck before Bobby even got the engine off and running for the emergency room.

John stormed into the ER, peering at the sea of faces in the waiting room and growling when he didn’t find Dean’s.

“Dammit, Winchester,” Bobby ran up behind him, wishing he was younger, and grabbed the man’s arm. “You don’t even know what name to ask for. It’s Berryhill.”

“Berryhill?” John frowned, not recognizing that one, and headed for the desk.

Bobby smirked. “Dean pissed Sam off last time they needed insurance, and he gave ‘em ballroom dancers’ names.”

John snorted softly, amused in spite of his fear. It was a very ‘Dean’ thing to do and just like Sam to take a page from his big brother’s book.

“We’re looking for Sam and Dean Berryhill.” Bobby stepped in front of John, deciding he was more likely to have the needed patience. “I’m their uncle. This is their father.”

The nurse at the desk smiled. “Just give me a moment to check.”

John itched with the need to search the hospital on his own. Only Bobby’s grip on his elbow kept him in check. “What’s taking so long?”

“Sirs? If you’ll just take the elevator up to the third floor, Doctor Harriman will be waiting for you.”

John immediately wrenched his arm free and headed for the bank of elevators with Bobby on his heels. He caught one as the doors opened and surged inside, slapping the button.

“John, just take a damn breath already,” Bobby rolled his eyes, “before you give some poor nurse a heart attack.” The man had a look on his face like he was ready to kill something.

John nodded but said nothing. He remembered Dean telling him that Sam hadn’t been feeling well. He should have stopped them going on the hunt. He damn well knew better than to hunt with backup that wasn’t a hundred percent. Guilt overcame him and he closed his eyes. John gasped as an image of Sam flashed in his mind. His eyes flew open and he looked down at his right hand; the knuckles were bruised.

“John?” Bobby asked, seeing the odd look on his face as the elevator rose.

John looked at him and back at his hand. Another image came to him…of his hand connecting with the side of his son’s head with a whiskey bottle and then Sam laying dazed on the floor looking up at him with pain and fear in his eyes, and he had the overwhelming urge to throw up. He slapped a hand over his mouth and tried to breathe through it.

“Man, if you’re gonna hurl, at least wait ‘til we’re out of the damn elevator.” Bobby silently urged the thing to go faster and sighed gratefully when the doors opened. “Come on. Move.” Bobby took John’s elbow again and led him out into the chest of a white-coated doctor. “He’s gonna blow. Where’s a good place?”

“What? Oh, my.” The doctor took John’s other arm and aimed him for a nearby trashcan. “Berryhill family, I presume?”

“Yeah,” Bobby nodded and grimaced as John bent over the trashcan and let his breakfast go.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean sat beside his brother’s bed and held his hand. Sam was unconscious still with his head turned towards him. Even in sleep, Sam instinctively sought out his brother’s presence in a room. Dean ran his free hand through his hair and watched Sam’s face, willing him to wake the hell up already. He couldn’t shake the image of Sam being thrown into the mausoleum last night, the way he’d hunched over himself leaving the cemetery, the blood he’d started coughing and throwing up or the way he’d suddenly gone still and unresponsive on the bathroom floor.

The doctor had told him it was pressure in his skull from a concussion and a punctured lung from a broken rib. Dean hated himself a little for letting Sam talk him out of going to the hospital for so many hours. He’d almost lost him.

“See if I ever let you use those puppy-dog eyes on me again, kiddo,” Dean whispered and carded a hand through Sam’s over-long hair, pushing it off his forehead. He shot to his feet when the door opened and his father and Bobby came into the room.

John stood in the doorway, stricken as he looked at his youngest laid out in the bed, too pale and too still. The doctor hadn’t held any punches in detailing Sam’s injuries from his supposed mugging. The part that had turned John’s stomach a second time was being told the more serious concussion came very soon after a more minor one hours before, likely the result of the cut on the back of his head. He had done that to Sam. Everything had come back to him; every despicable thing he had said and the way he had effortlessly broken his boy apart. If he needed any confirmation how badly he’d screwed up, the look on Dean’s face now was enough.

“How’s he doin’?” Bobby stepped to the bed and rested a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Hasn’t woken up yet,” Dean said softly and shrugged. “Doc says he can come out of it anytime now. He’ll be fine.”

“’Course he will. He’s a Winchester.” Bobby nodded and squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “Too damn stubborn to give up.” He glanced up and saw Dean staring at his father. “I’ll, uh, just…go get some coffee.” He had a feeling he didn’t want to hear what was coming and made a quick exit.

Dean watched his father who had yet to move from the doorway and scowled. “’nuff of the whiskey finally filter out of your head, Dad? You remember what happened now?”

John glared at Dean defensively. “Don’t, Dean.” He moved into the room finally and looked back at Sam. “How’d this happen?”

“Let me think,” Dean started in a voice heavy with anger and sarcasm. “Oh, yeah. See, Sam here was too busy trying to hold his splitting head together and deal with whatever CRAP you fed him to realize the damn ghost was behind him.” He stopped, breathing heavily and swallowed the rage back with difficulty. “You know what the most pathetic part of this mess is, Dad? All he cares about is not screwin’ shit up with you again.” Dean laughed but it was harsh. “Made me promise to leave you alone about this.”

“Dean…” John started but his son’s snarl cut him off.

“I’m gonna say this once.” Dean glared across Sam at their Dad. “Sam only did what we both tried do, what we’d been trying to figure out how to do for months, to PREVENT the last seal from being broken - kill Lillith. Who the hell would have thought that was a bad idea? I sure as hell didn’t know, and that Ruby bitch had him so screwed up after I…after I died…”   
  
Dean stopped and ran a hand through his hair, realizing he was still holding on to his brother’s hand. “I broke the first seal, Dad. None of this…NONE of it would be possible if I hadn’t broke first.” He didn’t look up at his dad; he couldn’t. “I started all this. They played us right from the start. So if you wanna blame anyone for the damn apocalypse, you blame me. If I hadn’t been weak…if I hadn’t broken, Sam would never have been in that position in the first damn place.”

“Dean, I’m sorry.” John said softly.

“If you ever lay a hand on my brother again, I won’t let it go next time.” Dean looked up and met his father’s surprised eyes. “You understand me? This…never happens again.”

“Dean?” Sam’s whisper-quiet voice startled both men.

“Hey, Sammy. You back with us?” Dean leaned in and rested a hand on his forehead as Sam slowly blinked up at him.

“D’we get him?” Sam asked and closed his eyes as his head pounded.

Dean snorted softly. “Yeah, we got him. How you feeling?” Dean watched Sam open his eyes again and look around the room and felt the flinch under his hand when he saw their dad. “Easy, buddy.”

“Sammy.” John moved to the side of the bed, and it hurt something in his chest when his youngest son flinched away from his touch and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Dean. Give us a minute.”

“Dad, I don’t think…” Dean started but was cut off.

“Dean. I got it.” John met his angry, green eyes steadily. “We’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.” It angered him to feel like he had to ask permission to be alone with Sam, but he knew he’d brought this on himself and he had to fix it. He’d made sure that Dean would protect his brother against anything that threatened him all his life, and now that seemed to include him. His anger washed away on seeing the slightly panicked look on Sam’s face and Dean squeezing his hand before he let him go and walked away.

“I’ll be just outside,” Dean assured Sam as he opened the door and stepped out.

John eased a hip onto the side of the bed and sighed. “Sam…” He stopped, swallowing (when Sam’s eye’s remained focused on the door where Dean had just exited.) “Sammy, could you look at me?” He asked gently and smiled when Sam rolled his head and eyed him warily.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said softly. “Should have been…paying more attention. I missed it.” Sam raised a hand to rub at his head. “Should have had Dean’s back. Sorry.”

“Don’t, alright? Stop apologizing.” John took Sam’s hand and held on to it when he tried to pull away. “I screwed up, kiddo. I’m the one who should be sorry.” He smiled sadly at the surprised look on Sam’s face. “What happened the other night…I…God, Sammy, I’m so sorry.” John leaned forward and smoothed a hand over his son’s head and down the back, resting his fingers lightly over the healing cut he could feel and the newer swelling next to it. “The things I said to you…”

“I deserved them,” Sam said softly and dropped his eyes from his father’s.

“What? No, Sam. No!” John took his jaw and made him meet his eyes again. “I got stupid, blind drunk and said horrible things I…I didn’t even remember doing it when I woke up, Sammy. You didn’t deserve one word of that, least of all about…about your mother.” It was John who looked away now as guilt swamped him. “Mary would be pissed as hell at me for even thinking those things, much less ever saying them to you. And she’d be right.”

“But Lillith, the apocalypse…it’s my fault,” Sam shook his head, unable to stop the first hot tear that slid from his eyes.

“Truth is, we all had a part in it, kiddo.” John looked back to him and smoothed the tear away with his thumb. “And…I think maybe we all failed you somewhere along the way.” John said it softly but felt the ring of truth in it. It was Dean’s voice in his ear, then Bobby’s, and he thought about the whole thing, how it stretched back to when the kid trembling next to him now had been only six months old. “You never had a chance, Sam, and I was…” He sighed. “…I was too angry for too long to see it. I’m sorry.”

Sam swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat. He didn’t think he deserved forgiveness; he really didn’t. But knowing you didn’t deserve it and needing it were two different things. He needed it. “You don’t…hate me?”

John shook his head. “No, Sammy.” He cupped the side of his face and met his watery gaze steadily. “Oh, I’m still pissed and we need to talk about some things, but I don’t hate you. And I get it; I really do. You got played, Sam. We all did.” John rolled his eyes and snorted. “How in hell were any of us supposed to come out ahead with demons AND angels working against us?”

Sam shook his head. “I dunno.” He sniffed and let himself turn his hand in his father’s grip, taking it in his own. “What do we do?”

“What we always do, son.” John squeezed the side of Sam’s neck. “We fight the sons of bitches.” He chuckled softly. “You know those idiot angels actually expect me to say yes?”

Sam laughed in spite of everything. “Should know better.”

“Damn right, they should.” John smiled and turned to look at the closed door. “You can come back in, Dean. No blood on the walls.” He didn’t even say it very loud, but it was enough. The door opened instantly and Dean came back into the room, going immediately to the other side of the bed and putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Everything good in here?” Dean asked, watching his brother carefully and sighed in relief when Sam smiled.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re good,” Sam told him and meant it. He screwed his eyes shut as pain pounded through his head. “But, uh…morphine would be nice right now…or something.”

“Shouldn’t use your head as a battering ram, sasquatch.” Dean chuckled and nodded as Dad pressed the call button.

“Have you flyin’ on the good stuff in no time, Sammy,” John assured him and kept hold of his youngest’s hand with a firm squeeze. He had a second chance at life with his boys; he was going to make sure he didn’t blow it this time around. “We’ve gotcha.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._

**Next Up: emebalia**

As promised, this is the complete prompt from AlxM:  
 _The angels finally realize that Dean will not say yes under any circumstances or at any costs, so they resurrect the one other person that has Winchester blood in his veins, the John Winchester himself. Now he's alive and the first thing he does is go to his boys, and he knew exactly where to go to find them, Bobby Singer's house. He finds them, after a bit of skepticism from his boys and going through some tests, Sam and Dean finally believe it's their father. They tell him all about the events that occured, and John's definitely not happy. Dean, he forgives later, understanding that no one can hold out for very long in hell, and admitting that he jad broke himself a few times. But Sam? Nuh uh. John has never laid a hand on his sons before, yelled? Yes, but hit them? Never. He breaks that one night when he's drunk, and rage and drunk do not mix well, and unfortunately, Sam comes at the wrong place at the wrong time, feeling the wrath of John Winchester. The next morning, Dean finds out (We get an awesome brotherly moment) and he's pissed, he goes to confront his Dad, but Sam stops him, telling him he has a second chance with his father and he doesn't want to screw that up by making him think he's weak (or any other reason). John wakes up, doesn't remember anything he's done last night, continues to ignore his youngest son. But after a few days, he starts remembering everything, which is, after a hunt gone wrong with Sammy in the hospital. He feels guilty and he goes to apologize to him after he's woken up. Dean's still pissed and maybe, he threatens him that if he ever lays a hand on his brother, he won't let him go next time (Oh yeah! Protective Dean.) And when John and Sam are alone in the room, he hates the way his son is behaving around him (flinching, avoiding eye-contact). And we get a happy ending._


	13. For emebalia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For emebalia - Season 1 or 2, Dean has to spend the night with a kid (not older than 10) in the woods with something evil still lurking around. Sam is not with them for some reason.
> 
> A/N: Alrighty! Season 2, just because. :D One hunt gone wrong, hurt Dean and a kid in the woods at night coming up!

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean was stuck in a nightmare. He groaned, knowing he was asleep but was powerless to wake himself up. The wendigo was coming. He could see it. They’d come hunting it after a ten-year-old boy had gone missing and Dean had been convinced the kid was already dead. They found its lair and the boy, still alive and screaming for help. Dean watched himself cutting the boy loose, saw Sam thrown aside and stunned as the wendigo rushed into the cave. He put himself between the creature and the boy and this time didn’t feel the pain as he was thrown into a wall and his leg crumpled. He watched the boy crawl to him and saw himself shield him with his body, even as Sam rose up behind it, staggering, and fired, hitting it in the leg. Dean jerked awake as he was shaken and blinked up at the boy, Freddie.

“Dean? You ok?” Freddie peered fearfully down at him in the moonlight. “I think…you were havin’ a nightmare.”

“Yeah,” Dean groaned and pushed himself up against the tree at his back. He sucked in a breath as pain shot from his left leg up to his head and fell back. “Shit!” He blinked blearily down at his leg and memory struck him. “Right,” He hissed between his teeth. His leg had snapped when he hit the cave wall, and Sam, after trying to carry him out with his own concussion stealing his balance, had finally been convinced to leave him behind and go get help. Dean looked over at Freddie, remembering the kid’s absolute refusal to leave his hero and smiled. “You ok, kiddo?”

Freddie nodded. “Yeah.” He laid his hand over Dean’s forehead like his mom always did for him. “You got a fever. That’s not good, right?”

“I’m good, kid.” Dean took a few deep breaths. He needed to do better than this. The kid was a trooper, that was for sure, and reminded him a little of Sam at his age. He rolled his eyes when Freddie curled back up against his side.

“Your brother…he’ll be back soon?” Freddie asked and tried not to look at all the blood on Dean’s leg or the little white bone peeking out from the denim of his jeans. It made him hurt just looking at it.

“Yeah, Freddie.” Dean nodded weakly. He brushed a hand over the bag on his right to comfort himself. Sam had left them with the rest of the flares. Sam had shot the wendigo, but between the concussion and barely being able to stay on his feet, his aim hadn’t been true, and, even as flammable as they were, he couldn’t be sure it was actually dead.

Worried about Sam being off on his own in the woods, possibly with an injured wendigo roaming around, Dean had cursed at him and tried to make him take the weapons, but Sam had only taken a single flare. “Stubborn ass,” Dean muttered. He rolled his eyes when Freddie looked up at him. “Not you kid. Sam.”

Freddie smirked. “You said ass.”

Dean snorted a soft laugh. “Pretty sure you heard…heard worse than that in the cave.” He gasped at the burning agony in his leg and tried to stifle the moan.

“Wasn’t listening.” Freddie looked out into the trees around them nervously.

“What’s wrong?” Dean wasn’t so far gone in his own pain that he couldn’t feel the kid tense up against him. “You hear something?”

Freddie nodded. “When I was wakin’ you up. You were…you were yellin,’ and then I thought…I thought I heard something growl…out there.” He waved into the forest.

“Crap,” Dean groaned and pulled a flare gun out of the bag, setting it in his lap. “Too much to hope for the damn thing to actually die.”

“It’s still out there?” Freddie asked in a small voice and pressed in closer to Dean’s side.

“Hey, kid. It’s alright.” Dean wrapped an arm around him. “I’m not letting big ugly get anywhere near you.”

“Promise?” Freddie looked up with the absolute faith of childhood and made Dean’s heart clench.

“Yeah, kid. I promise,” Dean squeezed him tighter, remembering when Sam used to look at him like that. He sighed. He hadn’t been the best big brother ever since their Dad died. He jerked his head up at a rustle in the distance. It was followed by a deep, angry growl. “Shit. Shit!” Dean tried to push up the tree again, giving up as his leg threatened to knock him out with the pain. He raised the flare gun in a shaking hand instead.

“It’s out there,” Freddie whispered into Dean’s shoulder. He was doing a fair job of climbing behind the man in fear.

“It’s not getting you again, Freddie,” Dean said fiercely and blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision. His temperature was rising enough to make him bleary-eyed and dizzy on top of the pain. “No way it’s getting you again. Trust me?” Freddie nodded against him. “Good boy. I got this.”

Dean spent the next several hours fighting the need to sleep as exhaustion blew through him in waves. He couldn’t afford it, not with Freddie shaking against him and the wendigo lurking around them in the dark. He could hear it out there as it moved, and that alone made him frown. Typically, you didn’t hear the things until they were on you. He reasoned that, while Sam hadn’t killed it, he must have done some damage. He longed to go after it if only his damn leg wasn’t busted.

“Anytime…you wanna come…come back, Sammy,” Dean muttered, his arm moving across the clearing with the sound of the wendigo shifting its position. He snarled at himself and forced his hand to stop shaking. Normally, he’d have been relieved that a creature was coming after him instead of his brother but then, he wasn’t normally also responsible for protecting a defenseless child as well as being abouttwo breaths away from passing out either.

“I could hold it,” Freddie said softly.

“Huh?” Dean looked down at him and sighed, shaking his head. “No. It’s ok. I can do this.” He could just see the dirty look Sam would give him if he came back and found the kid holding the damn flare gun. He snorted. “Don’t…don’t wanna have to answer…to the big guy when he…gets back.”

“I thought you were the big brother?” Freddie reached a hand up and helped steady Dean’s arm.

Dean laughed softly. “I let him get taller. What…what can I say? I’m awesome.” He wiped the fever-sweat off his face on his shoulder and tried to slow his breathing down.

The wendigo’s growl came again from across their little clearing. Dean aimed at the spot. A moment later it sounded from their left, then moved to their right. Dean growled in frustration as it sounded behind them, and Freddie jumped against him. “You watch over my shoulder, buddy. Ok? You see it, you tell me.”

Freddie nodded and peered over Dean’s shoulder like it was a favored pillow and out into the dark trees. He was terrified, but he bit his lip and kept watch. Dean was hurt so bad he was shaking, but he still held the gun up and kept him safe. Freddy could do no less. He had to be just as brave.

The wendigo growled off to Dean’s right. He swung the gun in that direction. “Come on, you son of a bitch!” He shouted. He fought the need to cough and tightened his grip around Freddy when he shook. “S’ok, kid. You’re gonna be ok.” The night went silent around them; no more growls from the creature, not even the chirp of a cricket. “Shit.” Dean muttered, not liking the silence one bit. It meant the thing was up to something new. “You see anything?”

Freddy shook his head. “No,” He whispered, too afraid to raise his voice and draw the monster in to them.

Dean narrowed his eyes, wiping more fever-sweat onto his shoulder and sighted along the muzzle of the flare gun out into the dark. He toyed with the idea of setting the bushes across from them alight to try and draw it in but, in his current condition, wasn’t sure he could reload the flare gun in time. He listened carefully for any sound out of place over the pounding of his own heart and his harsh, panting breaths.

Dean froze as a single leaf floated gently down from above. He watched its fluttering progress as it drifted one way and another and finally landed silently on his knee. He closed his eyes. “Oh…crap.” He hoped he was wrong as every nerve in his body screamed danger at him. He wanted to be wrong. He knew he wasn’t. Dean swung his arm up toward the tree above them and pulled the trigger.

The flare shot up into the green bowl of the tree and exploded light. The hunched form of the wendigo was revealed, clinging to the branches. It screamed in rage or fear or both and burst out of the tree in a powerful leap as the flames neared. Dean scrambled in the bag for another flare while Freddie cowered against him. Dean cracked the gun open and pushed a new flare inside and looked up in time to watch the wendigo. It streaked across the clearing by the firelight in a limping run, using its arm to skitter out of sight like a three-legged dog; it only had a single leg now and Dean smiled grimly.

“Hope it hurts, bitch!” Dean yelled as it streaked into the darkness. He popped the flare gun closed and looked up and groaned again. ‘Oh, fu…uh…damn. Ok, kid. We gotta move.”

“But your leg!” Freddy said in surprise. Nevertheless, he tried tohelp as best he could as Dean used the tree to try and gain his one good foot.

Halfway to standing, Dean jarred his bad leg and ended up right back on the ground gasping around the agony. “Shit…shit. Ok…I can…shit.”

“Dean? It’s ok.” Freddy rubbed his shoulder to try and comfort him as the man gasped and moaned, and finally Dean’s green eyes opened to meet his. “Maybe if you crawl? I can help.”

Dean nodded wearily. “Yeah…that…we can do that.” He let Freddy help him turn as embers began to fall out of the tree in a sparkling shower around them. He pulled himself backward across the forest floor while Freddy danced between helping to pull him and steadying his horribly broken leg.

They made it all the way across the clearing, Dean fighting every moment not to give in to passing out and keeping his gun up in case the wendigo had another go at them. Freddy helped him lean against another tree and was instantly curled into his left side again. Dean smiled in spite of his pain.

“Ok, kiddo. We’re…we’re ok.” Dean brought his right knee up and rested his arm on it to keep the gun steady. He listened to the night again and frowned; the crickets were chirping once more.

“It’s kinda pretty,” Freddy said softly and pointed to the tree across from them. It was wreathed in flames from the flare and beyond it; the sky was beginning to lighten toward dawn.

Dean nodded and jerked as the wendigo screamed somewhere in the forest.

“Dean? What’s it mean?” Freddie stared around with big, frightened eyes.

“Don’t know.” Dean rolled his head against the tree to look in the direction the sound had come from. “Maybe it finally died.” He snorted softly. “Either that or I…I really pissed it off.” He squeezed his arm around the boy. “Don’t worry ‘bout it…be ok. Promise.”

“Ok, Dean.” Freddy watched Dean’s eyes flutter shut and his arm, with the gun, begin to roll off his knee. Freddy caught it and took the flare gun carefully out of Dean’s hand. “It’s ok, Dean,” He whispered and moved to sit like Dean, bracing his hand and the gun on his bent knee. “I can watch you.” The gun felt too big in his hand so he used both to hold it steady and watched the dark around them like he’d watched Dean do for hours. He pushed a little closer to the older man; he was putting enough heat to keep them both warm in the pre-dawn.

Freddie didn’t know how long he sat there, keeping watch. He had started humming the little tunes his mom would hum to him to keep Dean company. Sometimes, Dean would roll his head or moan, others Dean would just mutter ‘Sammy’ under his breath. Freddy was so tired, but he couldn’t sleep. The monster could come back, and he had to keep them safe. He startled at a sound deeper in the forest. He listened hard and realized it was the sound of something running. Freddy eased away from Dean’s warm side, shivering slightly in the cold air of dawn and stood, holding the flare gun in both hands.

His hands were shaking and he whimpered in his throat in fear, but Freddy looked down at Dean and straightened his shoulders. “I can do this, Dean,” he murmured, mostly to just convince himself. He aimed toward where the sound was coming from, waiting for the monster to show itself again. Freddy saw something move back in the shadows beyond the burnt tree. He closed his eyes and fired. The flare roared off into the woods. A moment later he heard a shout, but it wasn’t the monster; it was human.

“Whoa!”

“Uh oh.” Freddy looked down, squeaking in surprise as Dean’s hand clasped over his arm.

“Freddy?” Dean rubbed a hand over his face and looked out where the kid had fired. “What’d you shoot at?”

“Dean? Don’t shoot! It’s me!” Sam’s voice echoed out from the trees.

Dean stared in surprise and then started to laugh softly. He pulled Freddy down to him and took the spent flare gun back. “Hey. It’s ok, kid. You did good.” He looked back up. “Sammy?”

Sam appeared around a tree on the other side of the clearing, looking warily out to make sure another flare wasn’t coming for his head. He smiled and jogged slowly over to them, dropping to his knees beside them. “Get a little trigger happy, Dean?” His voice was light but his gaze was serious and worried as he got a good look at his brother. Dean should never be that pale or that hoarse. “Rescue team’s right behind me.”

Dean looked up at him and scowled. “What the hell, dude?” Sam’s shirts were gone. All he had on was his jacket pulled over blood-spotted bandages wrapped around his chest.

“One-legged bastard circled back around for me.” Sam shook his head. “It’s dead now. Caught me once before I could gank him. I’m good.” He bent over Dean’s broken leg and swallowed, terrified that Dean would lose it; it had taken so long to hike out and then back in.

“S’gonna be fine, Sammy,” Dean said, smiled and took his brother’s arm for emphasis. “You should sit…sit down, kay?”

Sam looked at his bleary-eyed brother and snorted. “Dude, I’m sitting.”

“He says you should sit, you should sit.” Freddie piped up and reached over Dean to give Sam’s shoulder a push until he went back on his butt. “Good.”

“Kid’s a fast learner,” Dean snickered and looked up as several people came into the clearing in rescue gear and carrying a board. “They’re not strappin’ me down.”

“Yeah, they are.” Sam grinned. “Freddie and I are gonna walk out.” As he predicted, Dean was strapped to the backboard and carried among the rescuers while Sam had Freddie on his back so he could see Dean. He’d danced along beside the board, hopping to try and see him as they’d walked until Sam had laughed, bent, and let him climb up.

Dean rolled his head to look up as the sun crept over the trees and smiled at Freddy perched atop his brother’s shoulders. “You did good, kiddo.” He took in Freddy’s grin and then late his gaze drop to meet Sam’s, raising a brow so he knew it was for both of them. He chuckled when Sam rolled his eyes and let his own close finally in exhaustion. “Did good.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	14. For Jeanny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Jeanny - I'd like Season 7 after TB-AI, Cas took the hallucinations and cured physical  
> damages from the accident, but a virus escaped his notice and sleep-deprived Sam goes down hard. But that's okay because Dean wanted to take care of him anyway. Basically a big schmoopy comfort fic.
> 
> A/N: Oh no…a reason to write schmoopy goodness with my boys? Whatever shall I do? Go to town and enjoy myself of course. :P heh heh heh One schmoop-fest ready to go!

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam leaned back in the passenger seat of the Impala with his forehead against the cool glass of the window and tried to convince himself that it was real; this was real. Dean had really brought Cas to him, the angel had taken away the madness, saved his life…it all seemed so improbable when only hours before he’d been convinced he was going to die alone hearing and seeing nothing but Lucifer’s taunting for whatever time he had left. He was going to die. He’d been as sure of that as he’d ever been of anything before. Sam had been so tired, so deprived of sleep, even his own body was giving out on him, and he remembered hearing a nurse saying that if his heart didn’t simply stop, the virus would kill him…Or maybe it had been Lucifer dressed as a nurse. Reality had pretty much blurred on him at that point, but he knew he had heard SOMEONE say it.

Sam opened his eyes and rolled his head slightly to look over at the passenger seat and his brother, needing to see him again. He wondered what Dean would think if he knew it was the flu he could feel starting to take hold that was reassuring him he was really out and smirked.

“You think of something funny over there?” Dean saw the look and raised his brows. “You’re supposed to be pulling a Rip Van Winkle, you know?”

Sam nodded and rolled his head back into the window. His whole body was strung out with exhaustion but… “It’s too quiet.”

Dean opened his mouth to ask what he meant and then closed it; he knew. Sam had been living in a crowded head for so long that the sudden silence had to be, well, deafening. He smiled and reached over, turning the radio on. He cranked the volume enough to fill the car but low enough to hopefully let Sam fall asleep. Cas may have healed his body, but the kid had barely slept for months. Angel mojo or not, he needed sleep. He smiled as Sam’s body visibly relaxed into sleep and nodded, satisfied.

Two hours later, Dean pulled off the highway in search of somewhere with decent coffee. He wasn’t driving to anywhere in particular, just away from the hospital, as though putting distance between it and his brother would somehow help him swallow down the fear that still lived in him. Oh, he smiled for Sam, but it was still there, that familiar, old panic of what to do if he couldn’t save his brother. He knew that, this time, there wouldn’t have been any deals if Sam had died. This time, he would found somewhere safe and scenic to leave his baby, and he’d have eaten a bullet in her front seat; together or nothing. Dean was done trying to live in a world without Sam. There was just too much -- demons, angels and leviathans --and if Sam had died, the world could kiss his Winchester ass and learn to go on without either of them in it.

Dean jumped in his seat as Sam sneezed himself awake and startled him out of his dark thoughts. “Sam?” He pulled off into a gas station and watched with a well-trained eye as Sam straightened and rubbed at his face. “You gettin’ sick on me?”

“Huh?” Sam blinked around the car fuzzily, his brain still not caught up to the fact he was awake again.

“I missed your witty conversation,” Dean said, tongue in cheek, and snorted a laugh when Sam just stared at him. He parked at a pump and nudged his brother’s shoulder. “Dude, go sleep in the backseat.”

Sam shook his head. “M’good here.” To prove it, he curled over into the window again.

Dean rolled his eyes and got out, leaving the radio on for him. Once he’d filled the tank, he took a look in the passenger window and Sam was asleep again. He looked around and spotted a drug store just behind the gas station and nodded. Dean made sure the car was locked and jogged across the lot. A lot of things were screwed the hell up right now, but one thing hadn’t changed. He still knew when his little brother was coming down with a damn cold.

He went quickly through the store, packing up what he figured he’d need and was back at the car in under ten minutes. Sam was still asleep but had turned to face the driver’s side instead, and Dean chuckled as he slid behind the wheel. “Ok, sasquatch. Time to find us a motel for you to be miserable in.” He started the car and heard Sam heave a sigh and settle deeper into the seat. Dean revved the engine a couple times, smirking as Sam’s head slowly drooped down the seat toward him in relaxation and pulled out.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam jerked awake with something under his nose and blinked to find Dean grinning at him. “Wha?” He looked around and realized they’d stopped. “Where are we?”

“Motel. Come on, sleepin’ beauty.” Dean pulled him out of the car and held his arm when he swayed tiredly. The last hour he’d spent with a hand on his brother’s neck, monitoring his rising fever. “Inside.” He gave him a shove toward the room and the already open door.

Sam stumbled into the room and went unerringly toward the far bed, a lifetime of habit guiding his feet without conscious thought. He dropped onto the end of it and sat, rubbing his hands over his face and tried to get his brain to wake up. He glanced up as Dean came in and shut the door. “Gimme a minute. I’ll do the wards.”

“Shut up. I got it.” Dean was in full-on big brother mode. Sam still looked as though he were half-asleep, pale and exhausted; it was making it easy for him to slip into the old mold. He went to Sam and got his jacket off before he was aware enough to realize, and when he did, his attempt at protest was feeble at best.

“Dude, knock it off.” Sam brushed at his brother’s hands, trying and failing to stop him getting his flannel off along with his jacket. “What am I, five?”

“Have you seen you today?” Dean snorted. He bent and tugged one sneaker off, tossed it aside and grabbed the other before Sam kicked him. He pulled the blanket back and gave him a shove. “Lay down already.”

“Dude, I’m…no, I’m good.” Sam stubbornly remained sitting as Dean went to a pile of plastic grocery bags and rummaged through them. “When did we stop at a store?”

“While you were in coma-ville,” Dean smirked. He pulled out two bottles and came back. “Here.” He twisted the cap off the Nyquil and handed it to him. “Drink.”

Sam held the bottle and stared at it. “Why do I need Nyquil?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You have a fever, dumbass.”

“Oh.” Sam nodded. “Right.” He shrugged and swigged a third of the bottle down before Dean took it back.

“Wow, you are half-asleep still,” Dean chuckled. “Not even tryin’ to lie to me and say you feel fine.”

“I do feel f…” He broke off with a frustrated growl as Dean shoved him over on his side and his head thumped into the pillow. He told himself he let Dean cover him with the blanket, that it had nothing to do with not wanting to move, and sighed in gratitude when Dean turned the television on and set the volume just high enough to be a comforting noise in his ears, drowning the silence.

Dean pulled the curtains once he saw Sam doze off in spite of himself and set about making the room as safe a haven as he could. He’d paid for it with cash and hoped they wouldn’t draw any unwanted leviathan attention. Once he’d covered the door and window in a variety of symbols that would keep out every ghost, demon, and angel he stretched out on the other bed and waited to see just how sick Sam was going to get. He rolled his eyes, supposing it was too much to ask that, when Cas had healed Sam of the damage that had resulted from the collapse of the wall in his brain, he’d got the stupid bug while he was at it.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean woke with a start as his head slipped off his hand and looked over at his brother. Sam was tangled in the sheets on his back and covered in sweat. “Hell,” Dean groaned. He rolled off his bed and sat next to Sam. He took the thermometer he’d bought earlier and stuck it in his brother’s ear, smirking when Sam frowned irritably in his sleep.

“Relax, Sammy. For once, it’s not me screwin’ with you.” Dean pulled it back out when it beeped and frowned in concern. “You don’t do anything easy, do you? Ok, buddy. Time to wake up.” His temperature was a worrying hundred and three point seven. “Sam.” Dean shook him until Sam’s watery eyes finally opened. “Gotta cool you off, man.”

“S’hot.” Sam mumbled and groaned when Dean took his arms and pulled him up so he was sitting.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Dean got hold of Sam’s sweat-soaked t-shirt and tugged it over his head, tangling his arms and chuckling at Sam’s attempts to free his arms. It made him look like he was ten again.

“Stop laughin’ a’me,” Sam scowled up at his brother. He moaned and dropped his head. It felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. The more he thought about it, he realized his whole body felt like it weighed too much and where was all the heat coming from? He blinked and found he was standing, leaning heavily against Dean as he was dragged to the bathroom. “Dean?”

“I gotcha, buddy. Come on,” Dean pulled him along, his worry growing as Sam seemed mostly insensible with fever. He sat him on the toilet, letting him lean over against the sink, turned the light on and started the shower. “Sam, dude. Don’t make me take your pants off.”

Sam got his head up and nodded groggily. “Can do it.” He made himself sit up, understanding finally that he had a fever and Dean wanted him to cool down. He fumbled unzipping his jeans and peered up at Dean. “You really gon’watch?”

Dean snorted and raised his hands. “Knock yourself out.” He went to the door and pulled it closed, staying on the other side and listened in case Sam hit the floor; he was that out of it. He smirked when he heard Sam’s shout at the cold temperature and cracked the door. “Just sit in the bottom, dude.”

Sam grunted where he leaned against the tiles. Any other time, he might have said something sarcastic in response but he was just too hot, too tired, and too…too everything. He slid down the wall until he was sitting under the cold spray and leaned his head against the wall. Sam gave a small smile. As bad as he felt, it was comforting to know it was just a flu and, more importantly…that Dean was here to make him do this, take a damn cold shower. He gave a congested chuckle as the cold water started to make him shiver and ran his long hair into his face. It used to irritate him when Dean would mother-hen him, but, now, after so long spent on the edge of giving up, it was comforting and it felt like ‘home’.

Dean gave him ten minutes and then stuck his head back in the bathroom. “Sammy?” He’d heard the shower shut off five minutes before and nothing since. The shower curtain was still drawn. He smirked knowingly. “Ran out of gas, huh?”

Sam still sat in the bottom of the tub, face against the cool tile and groaned. “Can’t get up.” His body was not cooperating with him. He jumped as a towel landed on his hand.

“Cover up, dude.” Dean swallowed his laughter; it wouldn’t get his brother out of the tub.

Sam pulled the towel off his head and around him, covering himself and wearily tugged at the curtain. “Ok.” It was humiliating needing to be helped out of the damn shower like a child and he blushed furiously when Dean pulled it open and bent over him.

“Come on, kiddo,” Dean reached in and grabbed Sam under his shoulders.

“Not…helping.” Sam rolled his eyes, red with embarrassment as his big brother got him out of the tub and back out to the bed. “Crap.”

“Give yourself a break, Sam,” Dean said, suddenly serious and knelt in front of him. “You nearly died.” He choked on the last word and cleared his throat, trying not to see the liquid look in his little brother’s eyes. He pulled Sam’s duffel over instead and pulled his sweats out.

Sam blinked tears back and gave a watery laugh while Dean got his sweats on his legs and tugged them up to his knees. “Thanks. I can do it.” He stood, needing Dean’s help to stay standing on wobbly legs and tugged them the rest of the way up under the towel. He dropped back to the bed and didn’t argue when Dean pushed him over into the pillows once more. “I don’t mind,” Sam said softly.

“Mind what?” Dean asked as he pulled the blanket up over him.

“This. It’s real.” Sam turned on his side and wrapped his arms around the pillow, closing his eyes. “It’s real and I know it’s real. It’s good.”

Dean sighed and sat on the bed next to him because he understood. “Yeah, it is, Sammy.” He pushed Sam’s wet hair off his forehead, frowning at the heat still cooking there even though it had lessened somewhat under the shower. “So is it…is it all gone? You alone in there for real?” It was the question he’d been afraid to ask, worried that if the answer was no it would break him, but Sam smiled.

“Yeah, Dean. No one in here now but me,” Sam cracked an eye to look up at him. “Feels kinda weird, actually. I keep…waiting, I think. You know like…any second he’s gonna jump out at me with…with fire and ice and...”

Sam’s voice was soft and tense, and Dean squeezed his shoulder. “Not gonna happen, Sammy. That bastard’s outta your melon for good.”

Sam nodded and let himself slide back into sleep under the comforting weight of his brother’s hand on his shoulder. He drifted for a while, he thought, in a mostly dreamless state, but then the burning started. It made him hot…and then he was cold….and hot again and then behind it all, like an insidious whisper of something remembered…the voice of Lucifer froze his blood in terror.

“Sam! Dammit, wake up!” Dean leaned over his thrashing brother, trying to hold him down in the tub in the cold water and keep his head above it at the same time. His fever had spiked again, higher than before, and then the nightmares started. Dean suffered for him as Sam chanted ‘no, no, no’ over and over in a broken, hoarse voice. “Come on, Sammy. You gotta wake up!” He’d dragged his brother into the bathroom and then the tub and looked over at his cell on the toilet seat again, honestly considering whether or not he could risk his brother in a potentially leviathan-infested hospital if the damn fever didn’t go down soon. He cupped his hand in the chill water and splashed it in Sam’s face, then again and over the top of his head.

“Sammy!” Dean shook him and felt weak with relief when Sam’s eyes finally snapped open and focused on him. “Damn.” He cupped the sides of his face and made sure Sam was looking at him. “You hearin’ me?”

Sam nodded after a moment and closed his eyes. “Shit,” He breathed and wrapped his hands around Dean’s wrists while he shivered. He opened them again and looked down, eyes widening in confusion and back up at his brother. “Why’m’I still in m’sweats?”

“’Cause I was kinda in a hurry, genius,” Dean said and rolled his eyes.

Sam nodded but heard the underlying fear in his voice. His fever must have gone frighteningly high. “I’m ok,” He said finally. “I get out of this now?” It was anything but comfortable in a tub of cold water wearing sweatpants.

“Probably.” Dean took one hand from his head and grabbed the thermometer, sliding it into his brother’s ear. It beeped a moment later and he smiled. “Ok, not frying any brain cells at the moment.” He set it aside, only half joking with that comment. Sam had gone damn close to a hundred and five.

Sam did his best to help his brother drag him up out of the water and groaned at the feel of wet sweatpants. “Sucks.”

“Hang on. Don’t fall back in,” Dean admonished with a smirk. He went out to his brother’s duffel and dug through, finally settling on a pair of boxer briefs with a sigh. “Really gotta get you another pair of sweats, dude.” He grabbed his phone off the toilet seat and set the boxers there. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” Sam wanted to make some smart-ass comment about being stuck in his boxer briefs but he just didn’t have the energy. He figured he was lucky to stay standing long enough to change by the time he opened the bathroom door again and, as if he knew, Dean was already there to steady him over to his bed. It was kind of irritating, normal, and, on a level that settled Sam’s frayed nerves…comforting.

Dean dosed him with more Nyquil, got him to drink a bottle of orange juice, and promised him chicken soup later if Sam didn’t make him take any more cold baths with him. He took the expected bitch-face with a grin and pulled the blanket back up to his shoulders.

“Thanks for tucking me in, Dean,” Sam said and almost managed to keep the smirk off his face.

“I am not tucking you in, asshat,” Dean growled in denial and…did just that, tucking the edge of the blanket under him so the idiot wouldn’t get cold now his fever was down. “Go to sleep already.”

Sam chuckled softly, rolling to hug his pillow again and face Dean’s bed without even thinking. He didn’t let his eyes close until Dean was stretched out against the headboard; beer in one hand and remote in the other and had looked over to raise his brows, as if saying ‘what did I just tell you to do?’ Sam smiled, exhausted beyond belief and settled down into the mattress; safe.

Dean snorted. He knew damn well Sam was waiting for him to get settled before falling asleep. The kid needed to know he was there an arm’s length away if the nightmares came again and Dean would be, as he always had. He turned the tv up a little louder and reached over to flip off the light. “I’ve gotcha, Sammy,” He said softly and it was a promise. “No more boogeyman. You’re safe now.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	15. For Murphy9202

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For murphy9202 - I want a story with Hurt/Limp!Sam and lots of Awesome/Caring!Dean, Bobby and Missouri. Set the story in Season 2. Sam hurt a lot worse than expected after the wreck and the full extent of his injuries are finally revealed, needs time to recover/rehab. Boys stay with Bobby and Missouri comes to help. During this time Sam gets to experience two things he felt has always missed out on: a mother figure and a caring father figure. Dean has always been his everything, now he gets three people who all really care for him and want him to fully recover.
> 
> A/N: Post season 1 wreck. :D I’ve only done it once and that was a while back. I can happily do it again. Lol By virtue of the prompt obviously, this one is a little AU.  
> ….this one got away from me a little so…yeah, HAHA *snort*

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean slapped the door open into Bobby’s kitchen and went for the coffee maker. He wanted a shot of whiskey, but figured even Bobby would give him a lecture for that at nine in the morning. They’d given his father a Hunter’s funeral the night before and Dean hadn’t even bothered with bed. What the hell was the point in sleeping when he knew what Dad had done for him? He’d barely looked at Sam after and gone to stare at the wreck of his baby instead with a bottle.

“You’re up early,” Bobby said as he turned into the kitchen and found Dean. “Figured you’d be sleepin’ it off still.”

“Nope,” Dean took his coffee and headed for the stairs, deciding a shower wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Bobby sighed, watching Dean trudge up the stairs and shook his head. He didn’t have a damn clue what to say to either of those boys right now. Sam was walking around like he was made of glass, and Dean…well, he just looked like he wanted to kill something. “Dammit.”

Dean eased the bedroom door open, wanting to grab fresh clothes without waking his brother up and having to deal with him and his sharing bullshit. He stuck his head in the door and raised his brows; Sam’s bed was empty. He shrugged and took what he needed, retreating to the bathroom and lost himself under the hot spray until it started to go cold. It wasn’t that he didn’t care that Sam was hurting. He just figured Sam wasn’t hurting as much, whatever he said, and he didn’t know what Dean knew in his heart. Sam had no idea what Dad had done, and the knowledge was eating Dean up inside.

He came out of the bathroom and groaned, hearing his phone ringing in the bedroom. Dean opened the door again, room still empty, and went over, swiping it up from the nightstand. “Hello?”

“Dean Winchester?”

Dean frowned, hearing a woman’s voice and then stared in surprise. “Missouri?”

“Well, who else would it be?” Missouri replied, as if it should be obvious. “Where’s your brother?”

“How the hell should I know?” Dean’s brief good will vanished, the anger returning to choke him.

“Dean, son. I am more sorry than I can say about your daddy,” Missouri’s voice was suddenly quiet, forcing him to listen closely. “I know what happened, and…I know what you think he did. You’re right, but that’s not important right now.”

“Not important?” Dean’s voice rose. “How can you…”

“Dean, you listen to me! What matters right now is Sam! Where is he?” Missouri was having to work to cover the fear her visions had left her with. “He was hurt too, you know!”

“Hey, he walked out of that hospital under his own power.” Dean growled. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Boy, you make time.” Missouri let her own anger out. “You’re an idiot. I saw that wreck. You know how I saw it, and if you think that boy just…just walked away…what’s wrong with you? You so eaten up with your own guilt you can’t watch out for him like you’re supposed to?”

“Listen, lady!” Dean kicked the end of his bed angrily, but she overrode him.

“You listen to me, Dean Winchester. You need to find your brother now…before it’s too late.” Missouri’s voice was heavy with concern now.

“What the hell do you mean ‘too late’?” Dean demanded, and the first thread of worry finally got past his anger. He looked back over at his brother’s empty bed and frowned.

“You have to find him, Dean. Now.” Missouri heard the change in his voice and knew he was listening now. “I won’t get there in time, you hear me? I sensed it, and it’s gonna be real bad, real fast. Go, Dean. Now.”

Dean didn’t wait to hear more. He closed his phone and bolted from the bedroom. Missouri’s fear had become his. “Sam?” he yelled and ran down the stairs. “Bobby! You seen Sam?”

“Not since…since last night.” Bobby shook his head. “What’s got into you?”

“Sam!” Dean shouted and ran to the cellar door, sticking his head down the stairs. “Sam, you down there?”

“Dean! What’s wrong?” Bobby took his arm to stop him.

“Missouri called. Something’s wrong.” Dean headed for the front of the house. “We gotta find him now.”

“Balls.” Bobby strode out onto the porch with him. “You go that way.” He pointed off to the left of the junkyard.

Dean bolted off the porch. “Sammy!” He yelled and ran along the row of wrecked cars. He stopped at the ruin of the Impala and for the first time really looked at it. Fear suddenly choked him; how could his brother possibly have just walked away from that? The driver’s side was just as crushed as the rest. “God,” Dean breathed. “Sam?” He could hear Bobby calling on the other side of the forest of cars. He looked around the yard and down the row of cars to the shed. Dean didn’t know how, but somehow he knew that’s where he needed to go.

“Sammy?” Dean sprinted to the shed and inside. “Sam, you in here?” It was dark and the shelves were shadows in the gloom. He listened carefully, and after the sound of his own heart pounding receded, he heard it; wheezing breaths from somewhere in the back. “Shit!” Dean stuck his head back out the door. “Bobby! Shed!” He fumbled on the wall and got the lights on and then ran to the back. “Sam? Come on, buddy. Talk to…” Dean stopped and stared for just a second when he found his little brother lying on the floor and curled around himself, wheezing like he couldn’t get enough air.

Dean dropped beside him and carefully eased Sam to his back, pulling his head into his lap. “Sammy.” He was pale and too warm with sweat sticking his ridiculous hair to his forehead.

“Dean?” Bobby saw him back in the corner and scrubbed a hand over his face and went to them. “He alright?”

“He look alright to you?” Dean snarled and then shook his head. “Sorry, Bobby.” He put a hand to Sam’s neck, not liking how fast his heart was pounding beneath his fingers. “Sam, what’s goin’ on with you?”

Bobby took the hem of Sam’s shirt. “I had a feelin’, but the kid wouldn’t lemme look.” He tugged it up and sucked in a breath, hearing Dean do the same. Sam’s chest was covered in a crazy quilt of deep bruises, the darkest of them forming a half-ring in the shape of the Impala’s steering wheel.

“Why wouldn’t he tell us it was this bad?” Dean asked softly.

“Cause you and your dad were already outta commission, and he needed to be there.” Bobby watched Dean pull Sam closer and groaned. “Dean, we gotta take him back. He signed himself out AMA.”

“Stupid, stubborn, jackass!” Dean palmed the side of his brother’s face. “Sammy? Come on, buddy. Wake up.” He sighed. “Alright. Let’s get him up.”

“No. I’m gonna call an ambulance.” Bobby put a hand on Dean’s shoulder to keep him in place. “Don’t wanna move him too much. We don’t know what else is going on inside him. Could be dangerous.”

Dean nodded silently as Bobby stood and took a few steps away, calling 911. “Ok, Sam. I get it. I screwed up.” He put a hand gently on his brother’s chest so he could feel him breathing, however raggedly, and feel his heart beating. “I should’a seen this. I should have thought…but I was just so damn pissed.” He groaned and looked down at his brother, unable to help but see the parallel between them and what Sam had gone through with their Dad, their last words to each other spoken in anger.   
  
He tried to remember the last thing he had said to Sam. He was pretty sure it had been “Just leave me the hell alone.” Now, looking at Sam laying there too still and too pale, he was terrified that those angry words might possibly be his last to the brother he had loved more than anything or anyone else in the world for as long as he could remember. “I didn’t mean it literally, Sammy,” he whispered, fighting back tears. “I just wanted some time…”

“Be here in five minutes.” Bobby knelt beside them again. “Didn’t look this bad last night, did he?”

Dean shook his head, overcome with guilt. He hadn’t noticed. He let Bobby pull him away in a daze once the paramedics arrived and watched as his brother was loaded and strapped onto a stretcher.

“Come on, son,” Bobby said gently and pulled Dean outside behind the stretcher and toward his truck. “We’ll follow them in.”

Dean didn’t say anything. He watched the back of the ambulance through the whole drive, wishing he could see Sam, wishing he’d muscled his way inside. They pulled up behind it at Sioux Falls General Hospital and Dean was out before the truck had stopped moving as the ambulance doors opened. He frowned, his fear deepening as Sam’s gurney was pulled out. His shirt had been cut open and there were two pads stuck to his chest.

“What happened? He alright?” Dean demanded of the paramedics as they pulled the gurney.

“We almost lost him, but we got him back. Sir, step back. Please.”

Dean snarled as they entered the emergency room and a press of bodies cut him off. “Dammit!” He shoved through the doors they’d vanished through and jerked when a hand took his arm.

“Easy, son.” Bobby gentled his grip. The panic on Dean’s face was clear as day. “He’s gonna be alright.” Dean’s arm was trembling under his hand.

“They lost him in the ambulance…for a minute.” Dean kept his distance with difficulty as doctors and nurses swarmed his little brother, calling indecipherable terms and orders to each other over top of him.

“Balls,” Bobby breathed. “He will be alright, Dean. He will.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Three days later, Bobby had been right. Sam was going to be alright, but it was going to be a long road. Dean came out of the bathroom downstairs and went quietly into the room that had been Bobby’s until a couple hours earlier. They’d brought Sam home and moved him into it since stairs were off his list of things he could do for a while. Sam’s chest hadn’t been the worst of it, though it was bad enough. Deep bruising across his chest had constricted his breathing, and when the pain had become worse, he’d panicked and passed out, leaving Dean and Bobby to find him. There’d been bruising around Sam’s spine as well, likely from twisting around during the crash. The doctor had told him that it wasn’t unusual for swelling to take several days to cause issues, and that if Sam had stayed in the hospital, they would have caught it and dealt with it before things became so dire.

Dean went to the bed and sat carefully beside Sam’s hip. His only relief at this point, other than that Sam wasalive and breathing, was that the damage wasn’t permanent. But for now, Sam was crippled. It would take weeks before the swelling would go down enough to let him walk without help. Dean looked at his brother’s legs beneath the blanket. If Sam didn’t take it easy and do his physical therapy, it could become permanent and leave him paralyzed. He snorted softly.

“You’re gonna do every damn thing the docs told you to,” Dean whispered to his sleeping brother.

“Dean.” Bobby came in and handed him a cup of coffee.

“Thanks.” Dean sipped gratefully from the steaming cup.

“Wanna cup,” Sam’s soft voice came up from the bed, making both men stare in surprise.

“Dude, you’re supposed to be out for another hour at least!” Dean watched Sam open his eyes and roll his head to look at him. “And no, you can’t have any coffee yet.”

“Well, that’s just mean.” Sam said in a slightly breathless voice. The bruises on his chest were still making it difficult for him to take a deep breath. It was slightly mortifying, as he’d made himself pass out twice in the hospital just by getting too damn upset when they’d explained his condition to him. He started to push himself up in the bed and groaned when Dean’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder, pushing him back.

“No, you don’t,” Dean ordered with a shake of his head.

“Come on, I need the can.” Sam rolled his eyes. It’s five feet down the hall. I can…”

“Let us help.” Bobby finished for him and pulled a pair of metal crutches with arm supports from the chair by the door. “Oh, don’t gimme that bitch face o’ yours.”

Dean moved up to the head of the bed and slid an arm under Sam’s back. “Let us do the work, Sammy.” He eased his brother up so he was sitting while Bobby flipped the blanket off him and gently pulled his legs around and over the side of the bed.

Sam slammed his eyes shut as pain swept through him. He couldn’t pick anything that didn’t hurt. “Stop…stop.” He was panting for breath by the time he was sitting on the side of the bed and had his head planted in Dean’s chest unashamedly.

“Ok, buddy. Take it easy.” Dean held the back of Sam’s neck and squeezed to give him reassurance. “Slower breaths, dude.” They had tried to keep Sam in the hospital for several days more, but Sam had been adamant; he wanted out and Dean understood. Coming so soon on the heels of their father’s death, he wasn’t comfortable there either. It was like being slapped in the face with his loss every second; every breath of sterilized air, every beep of the machines was like nails on a chalkboard for them.

Bobby and Dean both looked around in surprise at a sudden knock on the front door. “You got this?”

Dean nodded, supporting Sam against his chest while he tried to breathe through the pain. “Go on.” He patted Sam’s shoulder lightly. “You just tell me when you’re ready, buddy.”

“Gonna…be…a min…a minute,” Sam managed between breaths. He tried to relax the grip he had on Dean’s shirt with his fists and slow his breathing down as well.

“Oh, child.” Missouri came into the room with Bobby at her back and smiled at Dean. “Don’t look so surprised, Dean. Of course I came.”

Dean closed his mouth and shook his head, amused. He met her eyes, suddenly serious. “Thanks, Missouri.” He meant for her call and making sure he’d found his brother before the worst had happened. He knew she knew what he meant and how deeply he meant it.

Missouri waved a hand dismissively and bent to kneel beside them. She reached out and nudged Sam’s chin until she could see his face. “Hello, Sam.” She smiled when he opened his eyes to look at her. “You’re not looking so good.”

Sam chuckled and then coughed. “Hi.” It was all he could manage just then, and he closed his eyes as she brushed her knuckles affectionately up his cheek.

“Don’t worry, Sam. You’ll be on your feet again in no time,” Missouri reassured him and then smirked. “Well, not in ‘no time,’ but time enough.”

“Now…would be good.” Sam pried his head up from Dean’s chest and gave a short nod. “Ok, I’m…I’m good.”

Dean nodded and slid his hands under Sam’s shoulders. “Bobby?”

“Right here.” Bobby moved in and waited for Dean to get Sam standing, supported by him while Bobby slipped the supports on the crutches around Sam’s forearms and planted them on the floor. “How’s that, Sam?”

“Ok.” He looked up, blushing lightly. “I, uh…I really…gotta go, guys.”

Missouri snorted and backed out of the room. “I’ll just leave you boys to it. Kitchen needs to have something cooking in it, I think.”

Sam worked to let Dean and Bobby do most of the work, holding him as he awkwardly shifted the unfamiliar crutches and his feet dragged along the floor. Each step left him momentarily breathless with effort.

“Sam, you don’t stop lookin’ like a landed fish, we’re just gonna carry your ass to the bathroom and back.” Bobby warned.

“No…way,” Sam growled, frustrated with himself.

Missouri busied herself in the kitchen, emptying the bag of groceries she’d bought and already had a pot on the stove. John’s death had cut her deep. The man had been an ass, but he’d been a good man who loved his boys…to a fault. Missouri sighed and wiped away a tear. That fault had led him to do the unthinkable. “Dammit, John,” She whispered and set about slicing an onion, needing an excuse should someone come in the kitchen just then.

Sam made no argument when, after getting him back to the bed after the bathroom, Dean and Bobby bodily picked him up and laid back in the bed. He was barely managing a complete breath, and it was driving up his panic level which wasn’t helping him manage it either. “Dean,” He gasped.

“Right here, Sammy.” Dean sat next to him and carefully pulled Sam up to lean into his side, trying to help him. “Sam, you gotta slow this down.”

“T…trying.” Sam’s eyes were wide in fear. He felt like he was slowly suffocating, his chest refusing to expand properly. It wasn’t something he reacted well to as far too many supernatural things tended to go for his throat first and he was more than familiar with the terrifying sensation of feeling the life being choked out of him, his lungs unable to draw in the oxygen his body was desperate for.

Bobby sat and took Sam’s hand, seeing the kid was seconds away from passing out again. He pushed back his own fear and smiled. “Alright, Sam.” He took Sam’s hand and placed it palm-down on his brother’s chest, giving a dirty to look to Dean when he rolled his eyes. “Feel him breathin’ nice and slow?” He waited until Sam nodded. “Just copy that. In and out. Nice and even.”

Sam concentrated on the feel of Dean’s chest rising and falling slowly beneath his hand. He felt like a child and immensely grateful at the same time. He glanced up at Dean’s face, expecting to see some sort of derision for his weakness. Instead, there was only concern as Dean made sure to keep his breaths even for him. Drugs left over in his system from the hospital, stress, and exhaustion all worked against him as he finally managed to take some normal breaths, and he felt sleep begin to steal over him.

“It’s ok, dude. We’ll wake you up in a bit for food,” Dean said softly and eased Sam’s now relaxed arm down to the bed while Bobby tugged the blanket up higher as Dean laid him gently back to the pillow. Both men stole out of the room silently. Dean looked over at the older Hunter and then away. “Bobby…”

“Shut up, already,” Bobby said gruffly. He didn’t need any more thanks for taking care of family.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam woke by himself and spent a few minutes staring at the ceiling and not allowing the pain to ruin his breathing again. He wanted to get up and see where everyone was, maybe lay on the couch instead of back here by himself. He closed his eyes again, frustrated knowing how useless he was going to be and for how long.

“Now, I know you’re not laying there feeling sorry for yourself, Sam.”

Missouri’s voice surprised him, and Sam opened his eyes to find her standing over him. “Hey, Missouri.” He watched as she sat next to him and set a bowl on the table. “How ‘bout we get you up and you eat? It’s not every day I make my stew.” She smiled and put her hands under Sam’s shoulders before he could argue. She pulled, grunting with effort and let him lean on her shoulder while she reached around him to pile the pillows up. “Take it easy, son. In and out, nice and easy.” She coached calmly and leaned back so he was slightly raised in the bed.

“Thanks, Missouri,” Sam said, embarrassed at being so weak in front of her. “Dean…Dean said you called him and…and told him.”

“Well being a psychic’s gotta be good for something, right?” Missouri laughed and picked the bowl back up. She set it in his lap and handed him a spoon. “You’re not useless, Sam.” She rolled her eyes when he looked at her in shock and she tapped her temple. “Psychic?”

Sam smiled and dragged his spoon through the stew. It did smell good. “Where are Dean and Bobby?”

“Oh, around somewhere.” Missouri smiled gently. “I wanted a minute alone with you.” Sam nodded and didn’t look up from the bowl. Missouri sighed and put a hand out to the side of his face. “Sam, look at me. You know you haven’t done anything wrong? Dean still loves you.”

Sam flinched at having his deepest fear pulled so easily out into the open and shook his head. “He’s taking care of me because he’s supposed to, Missouri.” He groaned and dropped his spoon back in the bowl, no longer hungry as self-loathing came over him. “He’s doing what Dad trained him to do and then, after the crash…”

“That’s why you didn’t tell him how bad you were hurting.” Missouri rolled her eyes. “Thought you were saving him trouble like an idiot.” She smirked as Sam flinched. “You are an idiot. So’s he. If you think that brother of yours is only caring for you now because of something your daddy said, that’s just plain nonsense.He loves you, Sam. You know that. And THAT boy, well, he’s got his own brand of screwed up, but I think you know that, too.”

Sam nodded and rubbed a hand over his face, trying to moderate his hitching breaths. “I yelled at him,” He said softly and couldn’t look up. “I yelled…and it was the last…the last thing we said, and…I can’t…”

“Shush, boy.” Missouri leaned in and wrapped Sam in a hug, trying to be careful of the bruises she knew he was carrying. “He knows. He always knew, and so did you.” She felt the warmth of tears on her shoulder as she held his heaving shoulders. “It _will_ be alright, Sam. Not for a while mind, but it will.”

Dean stood outside the bedroom, wiped at his own damp eyes and hated himself a little more. He had heard every word and it broke his heart remembering how he thought Sam somehow wasn’t hurting as much as he was. He took a step away to go find something inanimate out in the yard to take it out on but stopped hearing Sam’s hitching breaths and dropped his head. He couldn’t just leave him. It was his fault Sam was this bad, that he hadn’t even thought to wonder how his brother was walking after the wreck. He turned into the room instead and smiled when Missouri looked up at him.

“Hey.” Dean went to the bed and nodded at her, silently asking her to let him take over. He smiled again when she seemed to understand and smoothly switched places. Dean slid in and cupped a hand around the back of his brother’s neck then copied Bobby, taking Sam’s hand with his own and put it on his chest. “Come on, buddy. Gotta get a handle on this.”

Sam nodded, beyond speech at the moment as he’d looked up at Dean and the honest concern and caring had been plain in his eyes; not duty or responsibility, just love as Missouri had said. Sam closed his eyes once more, focusing on matching his breathing to his brother’s as he’d done earlier.

“Doin’ good, Sammy. That’s it.” Dean pushed him back a little so he could look at him and decided he liked what he saw, letting Sam back to lie against the pillows.

“How about you feed him that stew before it goes cold,” Missouri smiled at them both. She put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and leaned over to drop a maternal kiss to the top of Sam’s head. She chuckled at the look on his face and left them alone.

“Thanks…Dean.” Sam said finally and rolled his eyes when Dean handed him the spoon and the bowl.

“It’s good, dude. That woman can cook.” Dean snorted. “Put a shine on Bobby’s kitchen too. He ain’t happy.”

“She cleaned the kitchen?” Sam asked and laughed shortly. “Wow.”

“Yeah. He threatened to hide her body if she went near his study.” Dean chuckled and nodded at the bowl. “Eat already before she comes back in here.”

Sam took a bite though he still had no appetite and his eyes widened in appreciation. “Holy crap. This is awesome!”

“Yeah.” Dean grinned and watched Sam dig into the stew in earnest, comfortable to just sit with him while he ate even if he wasn’t ready yet to have the heart-to-heart Sam seemed to think they both needed.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

A week later, Sam was hobbling slowly around the house on his own with the help of his crutches and at least one of his three nursemaids at his side at all times. It was irritating and comforting at the same time. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to scream at them or hug them. He navigated his way out into the living room and didn’t bother to turn the light on; the moonlight streaming through the window over the couch was bright enough. He turned carefully and tried to be graceful on his way to the cushion but ended up dropping with a thump.

“Dammit,” Sam groaned. His legs still weren’t obeying all his orders, and his weakness was truly frustrating him. Just getting from the bed to the couch left him panting like he’d run a mile.

“Midnight stroll, Sam?” Bobby said from the door and grinned when the boy jumped.

“Geez, Bobby. Warn a guy.” Sam rolled his eyes and leaned back into the couch. “Just tired of staring at the ceiling in there.” He leaned his head back on the cushion. “Figured I’d come stare at the ceiling out here.”

Bobby chuckled and came in, stopping to hand a mug to Sam. “Coffee.” He smiled and dropped into the chair next to the couch, putting his feet up with a groan.

“Bobby, you don’t have to sit down here with me,” Sam sipped the coffee gratefully. “Go back to bed.”

“I’m good, son.” Bobby shrugged. He knew damn well it had taken whatever energy Sam had to get out here and he’d need help getting back. Not to mention, if Dean caught him down here on his own, there’d be hell to pay. He smirked. “How you feelin’?”

“Hammered crap,” Sam said easily, ruefully, and closed his eyes. “You guys gotta be getting sick of waiting on me.”

Bobby sat up, leaned over and slapped a hand to the side of Sam’s head. “You knock that crap off,” He said fiercely when Sam met his eyes with surprise. “Sam, you damn near died ‘cause we weren’t payin’ attention. You got any idea how that makes me feel?” Bobby leaned back again, surprised that he’d actually admitted to that. He shook his head and smiled at his own weakness.

“Sorry,” Sam said softly.

Bobby leaned forward again and studied him. “Sam, son. I know your daddy’s death ain’t been any easier on you than your brother.” He sighed as Sam’s face fell. “Your dad loved you Sam. Dean loves you.” He scrubbed a hand uncomfortably under his ballcap and looked up at the ceiling. “Hell, you know, I…well…me too.”

Sam smirked, amused and looked sideways at him. “We having a chick-flick moment, Bobby?”

“Shuddup.” Bobby snorted and sat back again. “What I’m tryin’ to say is, we’re not here takin’ care of you because we have to be, Sam. We’re here ‘cause we wanna be. You think Missouri drove three days out of some screwy sense of obligation?”

Sam shook his head, surprised. He hadn’t thought of it like that. “Well, no. I mean…no.”

“I sure as hell don’t have to let you boys use my house, and you think Dean can’t get one those beaters runnin’ out there long enough to take off?” Bobby rolled his eyes and then smiled so Sam would know he was trying to help, not hurt. “Son, you are every bit as important to us as we are to you.” Bobby meant that like nothing else, having watched Sam look at him with unabashed affection since he was knee-high.

“Why, Bobby Singer.” Missouri swept into the room with a smirk and shook her head. “Didn’t know you had it in you to care and share.”

Bobby growled as his face burned. “You know you’re cookin’s the only reason I put up with you, woman.”

Missouri chuckled. “Go back to bed, old man. I’ll watch over Sam for a bit.”

“I don’t need watching over, you know,” Sam said defensively.

“Be quiet,” came from both Missouri and Bobby in unison, and Sam threw his hands up in the air and thumped back into the couch.

“I give up.” Sam sighed, smiling.

“Smart boy.” Missouri patted his knee and sat beside him. “You gonna sleep out here? Don’t recommend it. You’ll wake up mighty sore you try and fit those giraffe legs on this thing.”

Sam snorted and sat back up. “Alright, alright. I’ll go back to bed.” He slid his arms back into the crutches and enjoyed the warm feeling as Missouri steadied him on one side and Bobby jumped up to steady him on the other. “I can make it.”

“Oh, probably; but I’m pretty sure Dean would hurt us if he found out we let you go back alone.” Missouri raised a brow at him.

Sam huffed out a breath and nodded. “Alright; but only because I don’t want you two to get in trouble.” He was panting by the time they reached the bed and didn’t argue when Bobby pretty much put him in the bed and Missouri covered him and made him blush as she dropped a kiss to his forehead.

“Sleep, Sam.” Missouri told him softly and stepped out with Bobby, pulling the door shut.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam hobbled his way around the back of the junkyard. He was much better with the crutches now, three weeks into his rehabilitation, and his legs even did what he told them most of the time, but he was still weak and tired easily. He’d escaped out the back door while Dean worked on the Impala and Bobby and Missouri had gone off for supplies. He’d actually gotten fairly good at asking for help before taking a walk, but he wanted alone time, and there was little of that to spare with him and his injuries.

He went through the trees and down the dirt path, careful of the ruts in the ground. He’d toppled himself once last week, fouling a crutch on some scrap, and it had jarred his back enough to put tears in his eyes. Sam pushed through a screen of leafless bushes and stopped. He took a moment to catch his breath and then looked into the clearing in front of him and the dark, burned area in its center. This was what he had wanted.

“Hey, Dad,” Sam said softly. The last time he’d been here, they had lit their father’s pyre. He’d been too angry and too crushed to really think. Now, he’d had time to reflect. The last few weeks had given him an insight into what it must have been like for Dean, at least in some small part, to have a mother and a father in the house. Sam smirked, sure that Missouri and Bobby would each slap him for the comparison.

“I get it, Dad.” Sam looked up at the grey, clouded sky. “Why you were so…you.” He rolled his eyes. “I figured it out. Haven’t had much to do the last few weeks except read, and, uh…I know what you did,” Sam whispered and let his eyes fall back to the burned ground. “You summoned the demon and made a deal…for Dean.” He raised a hand and brushed irritably at the tears that began to fall. “You…you pissed me off on purpose…that day. Had to…to get me out of the way so you could do it. I get it.” Sam sniffed, wiping at his eyes again. “I wish…I should have seen it then. I could have done it.”

“That’s bullshit, Sammy.” Dean’s voice startled him badly and Sam staggered as he turned and would have fallen but Dean raced forward and grabbed him. “Easy. I gotcha.” He steadied Sam and looked out in the clearing angrily. Sam’s trail had been easy enough to follow once Dean realized he was missing. He’d almost not gone after him when he realized where Sam was headed.

“Dean…”

“Just…shut up, ok?” Dean shook his head. “Shouldn’t have been either of you. I shouldn’t be here.” He glared Sam into silence when he opened his mouth. “But I am. Can’t change that.” Dean went and knelt beside the burned ground, staring down at it. “I think maybe…Dad was afraid he couldn’t protect you.” It was bullshit of course, but Sam didn’t need to know what their father had said before he died. It was bad enough Dean had to live with that secret. “He knew I would…no matter what.”

Dean stood and walked back to Sam and the tears still shining on his face. “You got nothin’ to be sorry for, Sam. It wasn’t your fault. It was Dad, doing what he always did.” He turned to glare at the burned grass. “Making decisions that change our lives without bothering to ask.”

Sam could imagine the horror he’d feel if Dad had traded his soul for him; Dean must be drowning with it, and yet… “I’m not sorry,” Sam said softly and met Dean’s eyes, his gaze steady and clear and unwavering. “I miss him, Dean. I want him back, but…not if it costs me you. I’m not sorry you’re still here. I would not trade that for anything…or anyone.”

Dean stared back at his brother for a moment. Frankly, the intensity in Sam’s gaze as he spoke was a little unnerving, and Dean couldn’t decide whether to be angry or touched. He settled somewhere between the two and took his brother’s shoulder, turning him back toward the house. “You look like hell, dude.” Dean informed him gruffly and got him moving.

Sam knew he was still angry, and maybe even still a little angry with him in particular, yet the arm across the back of his shoulders supportively told him that they’d be alright. Whatever happened, Dean was still his big brother and wasn’t going to leave him. “Thanks, Dean.”

“For what?” Dean glanced over at him, relieved to see that the tears seemed to have dried.

Sam shook his head and smiled. “Nothing.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, Missouri and Bobby’ll be back soon. You can have a chick-flick with them. Just leave me out of it.” He snorted at his brother’s weary laugh, bracing his back when Sam wobbled the wrong way for a moment. “And your ass is staying on the damn couch the rest of the day.”

“Hey!” Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Wobblin’ around like a toddler on a tilt-a-whirl. Yeah, you look fine.” Dean laughed as Sam snarled in disgust and tried to pull away. “Knock it off before you fall down.”

Sam let Dean take his right arm, tug off the crutch and pull it over his shoulder. He snorted softly, grateful for the extra support. He was tired as hell and, frankly, ready to fall asleep, but he wasn’t about to let Dean know that. “Bet if we ask real nice, Missouri’ll make her stew again.”

Dean chuckled. “Dude, all you gotta do is give her those puppy dog eyes of yours.” They both looked up at the sound of car doors slamming from the other side of the house.

“Boys? We’re home!” Bobby’s shout made them smile.

“I’d say ‘race ya’ but…” Sam waved his crutch and made Dean snort.

“You couldn’t beat me with two good legs,” Dean hitched Sam’s arm higher on his shoulders, grinning at the bitch-face he shot him. “Gimp-boy.”

“Jerk,” Sam shot back as they rounded the house and he smiled at Missouri who followed Bobby up the porch with a bag of groceries.

“Bitch.” Dean laughed and hitched him into a faster walk.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	16. For AshleyMarie84

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For AshleyMarie84 - Set in current season- Dean can tell that Sam is depressed, just down in the dumps and acting even more broody that usual. He decides to have a "Sammy weekend" where they go do things that Sam likes, eat at Sam's favorite places, etc... just Dean doing things to cheer Sam up. Of course Sam has no idea Dean is doing it intentionally at first, but he figures it out and appreciates every second of it. Just some sweet brotherly moments and Dean looking out for Sam.
> 
> A/N: Set post 8x16 “RTT” – Good a place as any for Dean to decide Sam needs some cheering up. :D

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Dean couldn’t ‘not’ notice anymore. Sam had been moping around the bunker, moping in the car, and there had been some definite moping during the salt-and-burn a few days ago. Sam was miserable and making his usual piss-poor attempt to keep it to himself. Dean rolled his eyes as he heard his little brother sigh in the library for the fourth time in the last half hour.

His aversion to his brother’s love of chick-flick moments and heart-to-heart discussions had made him work hard to look the other way. There was a limit though, and, much as it frustrated him, taking care of Sam sometimes meant the occasional chick-flick. Dean grabbed his jacket, his decision made, and went into the library. It was time to manage Sammy, and managing Sammy was something Dean had been an expert at since about the time his baby brother learned how to talk. As he expected, Sam had heard him coming and, by the time he got there, said mopey little brother was sitting tall and reading, looking perfectly well-adjusted.

“Goin’ out for a bit,” Dean told him. “Gotta stock the kitchen.”

“Want me to come with you?” Sam looked up curiously, but his brother shook his head.

“Nope, I got it.” Dean smirked. “I’m the cook, I know what we need.”

Sam chuckled and nodded. His big brother’s sudden need to ‘nest’ had benefits; his surprising cooking skills among them. That year he had spent with Lisa and Ben, whatever pain it had caused along the way, had definitely had some awesome side effects where the kitchen was concerned. “Ok. Got a lot to get through here anyway.” He watched Dean climb the stairs and once the door was closed, leaned back in the chair with a groan. Pretending that he was alright all the time was tiring work but he couldn’t afford to let Dean know how he was really feeling or Dean would move Heaven and Hell, literally, to take his place; Probably Purgatory too, if necessary. Sam wasn’t about to let that happen. He scrubbed his hands over his face and pulled his aching body up from the chair. “Maybe a shower,” Sam muttered and headed down the hall, hoping the hot water would relieve some of the ache that was becoming constant in his bones.

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Dean dumped the dirty pot into the sink, smiling at his choice for dinner, and picked up the two bowls. He carried them down the hall and into the library. Sam sat where he’d left him, though his wet hair said he’d at least moved long enough for a shower. Dean set one of the bowls down in front of him and went to the old wingchair in the corner.

“ _Bon appétit_ , Sammy,” Dean smiled and kicked his feet up on the table.

Sam looked down into the bowl in surprise. “Dude. Spaghettios?”

Dean leaned forward and cupped a hand around his ear. “I’m sorry. Was that a complaint?”

Sam chuckled and shook his head. He grabbed his spoon and dug in with a smile. “I never argue about Spaghettios.” It was a childhood favorite of his and he smiled again at all the memories of Dean cooking him countless cans of the heat-and-serve delicacy in motel room after motel room to make him happy.

“What are you makin’ happy faces about over there?” Dean teased, inwardly pleased that opening a couple cans could change Sam’s mood so easily.

Sam ignored him and bent back to his book, pulling the bowl under his head and missed the satisfied smile on his big brother’s face.

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Sam shuffled out of his room the next morning. Mornings were becoming the most difficult time as the trials wore on him; the hardest point in the day to hide the growing discomfort and depression. He’d nearly reached the kitchen, keeping one hand on the wall to steady himself, when he heard the clink of a spoon in a bowl. He sighed and made himself straighten and pick up his feet before going in.

“Morning,” Sam said sleepily to his brother.

“Mornin’.” Dean shook a box on the counter. “Cereal?”

“Uh, yeah, and coffee.” Sam smiled and slid onto a stool.

Dean turned away and rolled his eyes. Like he hadn’t been able to hear the idiot dragging his feet down the hall like a ninety-year-old. Obviously, Sam thought he was deaf AND dumb. He poured cereal into the bowl with a smirk, added milk, and grabbed the cup of coffee he’d already made.

“One cup of pansy-ass coffee.” Dean slid the coffee loaded with creamer and sugar in front of him and then the bowl. “And cereal, and I don’t wanna hear any bitching. I had Wheaties, but I ended up with the box from the friggin’ daycare mom and her four kids in front of me.” He snorted and waved at the bowl. “Not my fault.”

Sam pulled the bowl over and barked a laugh. It was Lucky Charms. He shook his head and took a bite, smiling around the spoon. “S’awesome.”

Dean chuckled and shrugged. “I’m awesome even when I don’t try.” He went back and poured himself a cup of coffee, glad Sam had bought the lame excuse. Some things you never grew out of, and he knew damn well that stupid cereal always made his little brother smile. So far, his impromptu ‘manage Sammy’ weekend was turning out pretty good. Now he just had to figure out how to get Sam out of the bunker later without giving himself away.

“Hey.” Sam looked over and hoped he could get Dean out of the bunker for a little while. “Any chance we can run into town to the hardware store? Some of the shelves in the library need a little work.”

Dean almost choked on his coffee but covered it smoothly. He sighed. “Yeah, I suppose I could tear myself away for an hour.” He grabbed his mug and headed for the door. “Be ready in thirty.” He did a little dance in the hall and went to his room, shutting the door so he could laugh softly. “So damn easy sometimes, Sammy.”

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Sam leaned on the sink in the men’s room of the hardware store and spit blood into the basin. “Fuck,” He muttered softly and closed his eyes. He turned on the taps and rinsed his mouth out once he had his breath back. He took a good look at himself in the mirror and sighed. He’d just have to hope Dean didn’t notice how pale he was.

Dean did notice how pale his brother was when he came out of the bathroom and didn’t like it one bit. However, this weekend was about lightening Sam’s burden, not adding to it. He swallowed the anger he wanted to unleash until Sam just told him what was wrong. Instead he waved Sam over. “Dude, I’m starvin’. Are we done?”

Sam nodded and smiled. “Yeah, we got everything now.” He took one of the boxes out of the cart and left Dean the other.

Dean loaded the boxes and his brother into the Impala, running his fingers along her roof before he got in. It was a level of comfort just for him to be able to drive her and not have to worry about Leviathans on their asses. He slid behind the wheel and pulled on to Main Street. He’d picked this particular town of the three they had to choose from because it was small and really only had one restaurant. It gave him a perfect excuse for going to the place he knew Sam actually liked.

“Ah, hell. Should have gone to the hardware store in Bradley.” Dean groaned.

Sam smirked and pointed to the restaurant. “Nope. You picked the town. I get Greek food for lunch.”

“Pain in my ass, Sammy.” Dean rolled his eyes and pulled in to the restaurant, enjoying the triumphant grin on his brother’s face as he thought he’d got one over on Dean.

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Sam came out of the restaurant with a smile on his face. Usually he had to twist Dean’s arm to eat here. Dean tended to avoid healthy food like it was dusted with plague or something. He chuckled as his brother came out and gave him a dirty look.

“Feel like I just ate at a rabbit buffet.” Dean rubbed his stomach, promising it real food later. He caught Sam’s elbow as he went toward the car, ready to institute the next part of his plan. “Nuh-uh. I had to eat fruitarian for lunch. You gotta come see a movie.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the classic movie theater next to the restaurant and, predictably, Sam groaned.

“Aw, man, really?” Sam eyed the theater and rolled his eyes. Every time Dean had talked him into going there, they were always playing some ridiculous b-movie or horror movie. He wanted to go back to the bunker, but…he had gotten lunch at his favorite restaurant. “Alright. Fine, but I reserve the right to fall asleep halfway through.”

Dean snorted. “Deal. Come on, princess.”

Sam plodded along beside him to the ticket office, resigned.

Dean was having trouble containing the satisfied grin as he asked for and bought two tickets. He handed one to Sam and shoved his in his pocket without looking. He’d let Sam have the fun of telling him what he was really going to watch.

Sam took his ticket and glanced down at it as Dean bought popcorn. His brows shot up and a grin spread across his face. He stuck his tongue between his teeth and tapped Dean’s shoulder. “You, uh…didn’t bother checking what was playing today, did you?”

Dean grabbed their popcorn and drinks and shrugged, smiling. “What? Anaconda 3? Ooh! Yeti Apocalypse?”

Sam shook his head and started laughing as they walked to the theater. “Dude. It’s Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window.” He grabbed Dean’s elbow when he turned with a curse to leave. “No way, dude! You wanted to see a movie and we’ve already got the tickets. You’re watching it.”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean glared at him though he was grinning on the inside and let Sam pull him into the theater. He knew damn well Sam loved Hitchcock films while they usually put Dean to sleep. He settled into a seat in the theater with the requisite bitching on his part and waited until the lights died to let the smile crease his face. Sam looked like a kid at Christmas with his legs over the seats in front of them, popcorn nestled in his lap and wide eyes happily on the screen as the movie started. Yep. Worth it, Dean thought.

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Sam jerked awake from the light, relaxed doze he’d fallen into in the big chair in the library. The movie had been awesome. Dean had even stayed awake for it and seemed to enjoy it. He looked around and heard his brother calling for him. Sam glanced at his watch and snorted. It was almost eight o’clock. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such an awesome weekend. “Coming!” Sam shouted and pulled himself out of the chair.

He walked out and down the hall and stuck his head into the kitchen as Dean called again. “What?”

“Here. Take these to my room.” Dean came over and handed him two plates with his best burgers on them. “Sunday night football, dude.” Dean grinned. “Got the tv set up in my room while you were sleeping off the Hitchcock snooze-fest.”

Sam chuckled and took the plates. “Who’s playing?”

“Steelers and Bungals.” Dean rolled his eyes. “We’re rooting for the Steelers.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam laughed and went down the hall to Dean’s room. Sure enough, Dean’s latest ‘nesting’ purchase was mounted on the wall across from his bed; a forty inch plasma screen tv. Dean had practically cooed at the thing in the store. Sam set the plates on the end of the bed and it finally struck him.

“Well, holy shit,” Sam breathed and straightened with a bemused look on his face. His favorite foods, his favorite restaurant, Dean subjecting himself to a Hitchcock film….his brother was managing him. He grinned as Dean came in the room and took the beer he held out in a daze.

Dean dropped onto the bed and grabbed the remote. “Sit already, sasquatch.” He flicked on the tv as Sam came and sat beside him against the headboard and the opening tunes of the Sunday night football theme played. He glanced over at Sam and then frowned. “What?” Sam was staring at him.

Sam looked at him and a slow smile spread across his face even as his eyes filled. God, he’d missed this. The year with Dean lost in Purgatory, he had missed his big brother being there, knowing when he needed cheering up or taking care of. “Dean…thank you.”

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes. “Dammit.” Sam had figured it out. “Could you not ruin how awesome I’ve been all weekend by throwing hormones all over it?”

Sam cracked up and blinked furiously to keep the tears at bay. “Nope.” He turned and grabbed his big brother in a hug.

“Dude…get off!” Dean grumbled, but he hugged Sam back for just a moment before shrugging him off. “You’re such a girl.”

Sam nodded, saying nothing around the tightness in his throat. He took a swig from his beer instead and leaned back, shoulder touching his brother’s. This…this was what he was doing the trials for, suffering through what they were doing to him. It would all be worth it if he could have a lifetime of this at the end of it.

“You’re emoting all over the place, dude. Knock it off.” Dean bumped his little brother’s shoulder and grabbed his burger plate. “Eat already. Don’t waste the awesome.” He smiled as Sam took his own burger and bit in, sniffling at the same time.

“It is awesome.” Sam told him and Dean nodded.

“Yep. I know.” Dean grinned and turned up the volume on the game.

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_The End._


	17. For LeighAnnWallace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For LeighAnnWallace - For my story, how about the boys being caught in a hurricane in Florida while they're hunting for a creature. They're out in the swamp so they don't know it’s coming! 
> 
> A/N: Oh my poor, poor boys. Heh. This is gonna be fun…shut up, Dean. Stop giving me that look. SHE asked for it! What am I supposed to do? *snicker*

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Sam slogged behind his brother through the swamp and shoved his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes…again. “Can’t believe I let you talk me into this hunt…in Florida, in a swamp, in the middle of friggin’ July.” Dean had found the articles about hikers and day-trippers being snacked on in this stretch of swamp. They had been torn to pieces, chewed on, and their blood drained. Whatever was killing people was vicious and Dean wanted a piece of it. If it weren’t for the whole drained-of-blood thing, it might have been an alligator – which many of the locals and authorities were blaming it on anyway.

“Suck it up, Sammy!” Dean called back cheerfully. He glanced over his shoulder and snorted. “You shave all that hair off, you’d be a lot cooler.”

“Bite me!” Sam shot back in irritation.

“You don’t really expect me to pass up a chance to hunt Swamp Thing, do you?” Dean chuckled and hefted his shotgun.

That made Sam smirk and roll his eyes. “Dude, it’s not THE Swamp Thing. That was a comic book.”

“And a bad nineties series.” Dean yelped when his left foot stepped into a hole under the murky water. He wind-milled his arms until he got his balance and turned a snarl to his laughing brother.

“What? I’m trudging through a swamp in hundred-degree heat and hundred-percent humidity after a blood-thirsty creature tearing up hikers.” Sam shrugged. “I’m allowed to be amused.”

“Yeah, and I’m allowed to beat your ass,” Dean grumbled. “Still think we should have come out here at night.”

Sam laughed again. “You really want to wade through here in the dark?” He smiled and closed his eyes as a sudden cool wind came through, cutting the air around him and momentarily cooling the sweat on his face. It was gone just as fast and he sighed with its loss.

Dean rolled his eyes and listened to the sounds around them instead. The swamp was humid as hell. Cypress trees rose up around them. The wide trunks formed an ever-shifting wall or maze around them as the boles of the trees spread out above them, hanging tendrils down all the way to the water to brush against them and trail in the swamp. The swamp they were currently trudging through was considered a Cypress dome, with the tallest trees in the center. From the outside, it looked like an upended, green and brown bowl. It had the added dubious benefit of holding in the day’s heat like a sauna.

“You hear that?” Sam asked suddenly. He splashed up beside Dean and put a hand on his shoulder. Sounds seemed to echo off the trees around them. It made it difficult to tell where something had come from, but Sam was sure he’d heard something growl.

“Nope.” Dean looked over at him and raised a brow. “What’d you hear?”

“Huh. Nothing, I guess. ‘Gator maybe.” Sam moved away again with his eyes on the water. That was a very real concern in the swamp. It wasn’t just the supernatural they had to worry about out here. Nature had her own hungry creatures to send after them.

“Maybe.” Dean narrowed his eyes to peer among the twisted limbs and hanging fronds of cypress and scowled. He hadn’t heard anything, but he knew better than to discount his little brother’s gut. A year spent out of the life didn’t appear to have dulled Sam’s instincts, even if it had taken Dean a while to get his brother’s neglected reflexes back up to par. Dean shivered amid the heat, unable to escape the parallels between where he stood now and a part of Purgatory he and Benny had been forced to cross. It had been a waking nightmare.

“Dean!” Sam shouted.

Dean shook himself out of the memory and spun but a second too late. He’d let himself become distracted just for a moment. It was enough. A creature dropped out of the limbs high above his head, and Dean was taken under the water with it.

“No!” Sam lifted his feet and ran toward him. The creature’s back rolled up out of the swamp, and Sam raised his shotgun, firing a round of rock salt into its tough hide. It roared and lumbered to turn and face him. The creature’s arm came up out of the water with Dean clasped in a massive hand. “Dean! Let him GO!” Sam fired again in the creature’s face. It threw its head back in another roar, and Sam stared in shock. It had fangs, rows of them that reminded him of oversized vampire fangs.

Sam jacked another round into the gun and grunted in pain as the creature caught him up with its other hand and pulled him close. Sam cried out as claws dug into his sides. “What the hell are you?” The last thing Sam expected was for the creature to bend down and peer at him with one red eye.

“Vampirrrrrrrre.” It said in a long, drawn-out hiss and Sam jerked in its grip.

“No. You’re not.” Sam stared at it, repulsed, curious, and drowning in fear for his brother who had yet to move or show any outward signs of life where he dangled in the clawed grip, blood dripping from several spots on his body. “You can’t be! How…”

“Motherrrrrrrr.” It hissed again and shook Sam as his mouth dropped open with shock.

“Oh, no,” Sam groaned. What were the odds that they’d stumble on one of the Mother of All Monster’s leftover science experiments over two years later? There were definite signs of alligator on the creature, but also something else, some other strain of supernatural creature that he couldn’t place. The mutated vampire opened its jaws and turned, taking Dean’s arm in its mouth. “NO!” Sam brought the shotgun up one handed and fired rock salt directly into its eye.

Sam gasped as he was suddenly released and splashed down into the swamp. He rolled, trying to get his legs under him and came up out of the water coughing and gasping around the pain in his sides. All of his own pain was forgotten in an instant, however, when he saw Dean, still motionless, floating face down in the fetid water.“Shit!” He surged forward and grabbed the back of Dean’s shirt, rolling him and pulled his head up out of the murky water. “Dean? Dean!” Sam tugged him into his chest and brought the shotgun back up as the mutated vampire screamed its rage and lumbered off into the swamp to lick its wounds.

“Dean.” Sam slipped an arm around his brother’s shoulders and pulled him through the water toward the outstretched roots of a cypress tree. He pushed and pulled until he had Dean’s upper body supported on the roots and bent over him. “Dean?” He found his brother’s pulse beating weakly beneath his fingers, but no breath passed his lips. Sam pulled Dean off the roots in a panic and pulled his back into his chest. He wrapped his arms around Dean and pulled his clasped fists in and up. Dean jerked hard in his grip and murky swamp water spewed out of his mouth as Dean started coughing and gasped in a breath.

“Holy shit,” Sam breathed and dropped his forehead to his brother’s head in weak relief.

Dean blinked his eyes open and frowned. He was breathing heavily, coughing, his back burned and someone was hugging the crap out of him from behind. “S’mmy?”

“Just breathe, Dean. Ok?” Sam had his eyes closed, trying to breathe through his own pain, not to mention the terror that had gripped his gut when he realized Dean was not breathing. “It’s gone for now.”

“Wha’ the hell was Swamp Thing?” Dean had only a blurry memory of the thing that had landed on him.

“Mutated…vampire.” Sam pushed Dean back up onto the roots and ducked his head as a strong, cold wind suddenly blew his hair into his face. “One of…Mother’s creations. Think she crossed it with a ‘gator…and maybe something else, too.”

“Shit!” Dean pulled himself up the roots and had to stop, panting. “Big monster mama? That’s….that’s not fair.” He snorted softly. “Ganked her ass already. Son of a bitch.” He reached a hand to his back and groaned when he found open welts from the creature’s clawed hands. He didn’t mind the cold wind drying the nasty water on his face and cooling him off. He grinned suddenly, despite the pain and the total mess they were in as he thought about what Sam had just told him. “It’s a vampagator,” he pronounced, clearly pleased with himself. “We found it, we get to name it!” He thought for a moment. “Or maybe an allavamptor?” He pondered for a few seconds more. “Nah. I like vampagator. What do you think, Sammy?”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head marveling once again at the way his brother’s brain worked sometimes – didn’t matter if they were in the middle of a crisis….he seemed to have a never ending supply of this crap that he could summon up on a moment’s notice. He ignored Dean’s musings, and leaned up and pushed Dean’s hand away from where he was still poking at his back. “Let me look.” It was a testament to how bad Dean must be hurting that he didn’t argue with Sam about manhandling him. “Damn.” Sam got a look under his brother’s t-shirt and grimaced at the long claw marks seeping blood across his back. He looked up worriedly as the wind really picked up and a gust threatened to knock him to the side. “Hey, Dean? You didn’t happen to check the weather before you dragged us out here, did you?”

“What? No.” Dean rolled to his side and ducked his head from the wind. “Whoa.”

“Uh…when exactly is hurricane season in Florida?” Sam had to yell as the wind became deafening and the sky above quickly darkened; taking away the day with false night.

Dean glanced around seeing the effects of the rapidly increasing storm. “Oh, man. We are so screwed,” Dean groaned and pushed himself back into the water, staggered and grabbed hold of Sam’s arm. “We gotta move…find shelter.”

“Where? We’re in a swamp!” Sam shouted but started moving anyway.

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him along when he lagged behind. “Move!” The wind was starting to make it hard to stay standing. It blew the swamp water at them like ocean spray. He looked over at Sam and growled angrily, suddenly noticing the blood on the side of his shirt. “How bad?”

“Huh?” Sam looked over at his brother’s yell and then saw where he was looking; down at his side. “No time!” Sam’s eyes widened and he launched into his brother; knocking them both into the frothing water and out of the path of a sizeable chunk of tree. It splashed down a few feet away as they came up sputtering. Rain started like someone had flipped a switch. It wasn’t gentle. It was driving and each drop hit them like pellets.

Dean muscled Sam back to his feet with him and dragged him toward the base of the largest cypress tree he could see. The roots arced up from the waters of the swamp and it was the closest thing to shelter he could see. They reached the tree, nearly blind from the rain and the wind, and Dean shoved Sam through the roots and followed him underneath. The swampy smell was even stronger beneath the cypress and burned Dean’s nose as he kept hold of Sam’s arm and turned to look back out at the war zone the swamp had suddenly become.

Sam gasped for breath. He could see Dean doing the same but could hear nothing but the wind screaming around them. Even under the tree, it still tore at them. Debris and branches crashed into the roots protecting them as they stood chest-deep in the water. He had to turn to keep the wind from spraying the water into his face and drowning him. “Dean!” Sam grabbed his brother as he staggered and went under, pulling him back up.

Dean came up spitting the foul water and didn’t argue when Sam pulled him in; wrapping an arm around him to steady him. The wounds on his back were stealing his strength; every breath made them pull painfully. He jumped as something brushed against his legs under the water and saw the same wide-eyed fear on Sam’s face as an alligator surfaced feet away and then went under again. They were both bleeding and could only hope the predators’ drive for survival would outweigh their need for lunch.

Sam jerked in surprise as the massive cypress above them suddenly swayed with a particularly violent gust of wind. “Holy shit!” His words were torn away by the hurricane.

Dean took a fistful of his brother’s shirt and tugged him to the lee side of the tree, opposite the side being bombarded by everything not nailed down in a ten mile radius. He hooked an arm around a root that dropped down from the trunk above them and saw Sam do the same. They huddled together beneath the swaying tree as the hurricane’s fury washed over them. The water level rose frighteningly at one point, leaving both men gasping with their faces pressed against the very bottom of the trunk and coughing when wind driven waves of swamp water washed into their mouths.

Sam felt Dean weakening beside him and wished he could have had the chance to at least wrap the wounds on his back. He wasn’t doing much better with his own. They sapped his endurance as he tread water with his face against the base of the tree just to get enough air and Dean’s shoulder bumping his. The wind seemed to reach a fever pitch. Their cypress shelter swayed and settled, pushing them both into the water. Sam shoved the panic down and grabbed his brother, pulling him toward the roots. He shoved Dean through and followed to come up gasping for air beside the tree.

“Shit!” Dean shouted and gripped the nearest root, ducking his head against it to escape the wind driven rain. “Sammy?”

“Here!” Sam bumped into his brother and shamelessly hid his head in Dean’s back as more rain lashed into his face.

It was more than an hour later that the wind finally began to subside and the storm’s fury to blow itself past them. Sam had himself and his brother wedged into a cluster of roots that had kept them from being swept away. He raised his head and blinked, realizing that the sky was lightening as the heavy storm clouds moved on. “Dean.” Sam pulled his brother around in the water and groaned. Dean had lost consciousness some time ago, but with the storm raging around them, Sam had been helpless to try to do anything about it beyond keeping his brother’s head above water.He was unconscious still, and it had been more than long enough to make Sam nervous.

“Ok.” Sam wrapped an arm across Dean’s shoulders and kicked away from the side of the cypress. The water level had yet to fall, and Sam pulled Dean toward a cluster of trees yards away whose roots twined together and offered the closest thing he was going to find to dry land. The heat the hurricane had broken began to settle back over them in a stifling blanket as Sam climbed up onto the roots and dragged his brother with him. He laid Dean out on his side and flopped down next to him in exhaustion.

The wounds in his sides ached like they were on fire from spending hours in the murky water. Sam glanced at his senseless brother and figured his had to be just as bad. He groaned, know that infection was almost inevitable for both of them at this point. “Dean.” Sam made himself sit up and leaned over him. “Dude, you gotta wake up.” Sam’s head fell tiredly to thump onto Dean’s shoulder. “Can’t carry you out of here.”

Sam jerked his head up and around at a growling sound from behind them. “Shit. Shit!” He’d lost his shotgun during the hurricane, as had Dean. Worse, his belt, along with the machete that had hung from it was gone as well. He fumbled at Dean’s waist and smiled gratefully when he found the machete sheathe still there. Sam pulled it free and put Dean at his back.

“Come on, you bastard!” Sam shouted. He got to his feet and tried to push away the weariness threatening to take him back to his knees. There was no time for it if the mutated vampire was coming back to finish the job, and it sounded like he was. The growl sounded again, louder and closer, and drew Sam’s eyes up into the canopy above. The wind still blew, though nowhere near as strong, shifting the limbs and branches and obscuring everything. He rubbed a hand over his face to wipe sweat out of his eyes as the humidity returned in force and made it hard to breathe…or maybe that was the burning from the wounds in his sides, but he couldn’t be sure.

Sam hefted the machete, hoping that the creature would be as exhausted as he was from the ordeal of surviving the hurricane. He staggered a step in surprise as Eve’s twisted creation suddenly dropped from above and landed in front of him in a hail of leaves. Sam felt a smile tug at his mouth. “Get a little beat up, did you?” The creature’s left leg hung from its hip, clearly wounded and unmoving. “Bet that hurts.”

It snarled at Sam, infuriated with its own pain, and charged him.

Sam gasped. He couldn’t allow the monster to get past him to Dean who still lay unconscious. He threw himself forward, ducking under the creature’s reaching arms and used his momentum to crash into it and topple them both off into the water. He held his breath and stabbed the machete into the creature’s side and tried to push off from it, lungs burning for air. He kicked for the surface, sliding the machete free. Sam’s head broke into the air, and he sucked in a breath, then released it in a strangled cry as the newly named Vampgator bit down on his left arm. He could feel dozens of sharp teeth slide into his flesh as his head was pulled back beneath the water.

He resisted the intense need to suck in an agonized breath and twisted instead, bringing the machete around to bite into the creature’s neck. It released its hold on his arm and Sam kicked furiously for the surface again. He came up coughing and gasping. He tossed the machete up on top of the roots and grabbed hold with his good arm. He pulled and kicked to get out of the water; crawling up and listening to the sounds of the creature somewhere close behind as it splashed and screamed its anger.

Spots were starting to crawl across his vision, and Sam stumbled, sliding back toward the water as his head fell forward. He grunted in pain as something heavy hit his back and pushed his chest into the roots. He dragged his head up, feeling the creature’s hot breath on the back of his neck and stared in shock at two booted feet in front of his nose. “Dean?”

“Head down, Sam!” Dean shouted. He’d woken with his brother’s pained cry, that sound trumping every pain that permeated his entire body, and giving him the strength he needed to act. He crawled over and found his machete. Dean hefted it now, waiting until Sam’s head fell. He swung hard and wide, groaning with effort as it bit into the neck of the creature and then through the other side. The mutated head dropped back into the murky waters with a splash as its body slid down Sam’s back and below the surface.

“Shit.” Dean dropped to his knees and took his brother’s arm. “Come on. Up.” He pulled, lying back as Sam came up with him and rolled to land next to him.

“Thanks,” Sam said breathlessly and decided he didn’t have the energy to get off his face.

Dean nodded wordlessly and raised his head to look at his brother. Sam’s left arm lay across him. Dean took it and lifted it up, grimacing at the blood flowing from the double row of fang marks from wrist to shoulder. “Damn, Sammy.” He sat up, groaning with his own pain and tugged his wet t-shirt off. Dean wrapped it around his brother’s arm and gave him a push. “Roll over already.”

“No.” Sam grunted, glared up at him sideways, and finally let Dean shove him over onto his back.

“Quit yer bitchin’.” Dean rolled his eyes and tugged his brother’s shirt up, getting his first look at the claw marks dug into his sides. He shook his head and dug in his pocket for his cell. Dean snorted and tossed it into the water. “Toast. Yours?”

Sam closed his eyes. “Washed away. We gotta….we hafta swim out.”

Dean groaned and hunched over, wishing the wounds on his back didn’t hurt so damn much more now he’d taken his shirt off. That just wasn’t fair. He put a hand on his brother’s chest and pushed when he started to sit up. “It can wait, Sammy. Just…take a minute…or twenty.”

Sam smirked and let his head drop back. It was spinning, his vision was a mess; spending those hours keeping himself and his brother from being washed away and drowned followed by the fight with – he felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth – …Vampgator…had left him nothing. He was done and he knew it. “’Kay.”

Dean snorted for the child-like response. His brother must be damn close to out of gas. He looked up through the tree tops and shook his head in wonder. The hurricane had blown its way past them and pockets of blue sky were starting to appear here and there in the heavy clouds. “Must have just been the edge of the damn thing,” Dean muttered.

Sam rolled his head wearily and looked up at his brother’s bare back. Their extended stay in the water had done awful things to the gashes. “Dude…back looks like…like burger meat.”

“Feels like it, too,” Dean groaned. “Yours don’t look much better. Gonna be a pain in the ass stitching those up.” He patted Sam’s side under his shirt, making him moan in pain and Dean grinned.

“Jerk,” Sam gasped and let his head fall back with a thump.

Dean chuckled and wiped a hand over his face, feeling exhaustion in every muscle of his body. “Bitch.” He bumped his brother’s knee. “Come on. I can drag your ass if I have to.”

Sam snorted and raised his good arm, a silent plea for help sitting up. He sucked in a breath as moving made his arm and sides hurt more and let his head bump into the back of his brother’s shoulder.

“Breathe through it, Sammy.” Dean let him lean against his shoulder. He smirked; at least the flood water would make it easy to float Sam out of there. He didn’t think it’d be long before exhaustion and blood loss took Sam down for the count.

“Hey.” Sam raised his head and eased toward the slope of the roots, preparing to jump back in however much he just wanted to stay there and sleep. “You park on high ground?”

“Huh?” Dean asked as he dropped into the water and looked back up at Sam. Panic swept through him and he twisted in the water to look out as if he could see the Impala through miles of swampland and his jaw dropped open in horror. “Son of a bitch!”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	18. For Frenzied Warrior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Frenzied Warrior - Set in pre-series. I would like a one-shot in which Dean is six/seven, Sammy is three. Daddy John drops the boys off at Bobby's as he runs off on a wild goose chase for the demon or whatever, leaving old man Singer to babysit. During their stay, Bobby finds out offhandedly that Dean can't read. Feeling pity for little Dean and fury for Johnny, Bobby takes it upon himself to teach him. Quiet/embarrassed/cute!Dean, obsessed/neglecting!John, teacher/snarky/awesome!Bobby, adorable!Sammy.
> 
> A/N: As requested, some wee!chester adorableness. :D Sam is 3 and Dean 7.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Bobby stood on his porch and watched the Impala’s tail lights recede as John Winchester left. He turned and looked at the two boys behind him. Dean Winchester stood with the eyes of someone far older than seven looking up over top of his three-year-old brother’s dark, shaggy head. Sam was propped on his big brother’s shoulder, legs and stocking feet dangling in sleep as Dean held him.

“Come on, boys,” Bobby said softly and smiled. He opened the door and let Dean walk carefully inside while he grabbed their bags and followed. Inwardly, he was seething at John for summarily dumping his children off in the middle of the night all because of something that might or might not have been the thing that killed his wife. Bobby scowled. He still thought the lead sounded like crap, but John wasn’t listening, too far gone in his need for revenge just then to care.

“Uncle Bobby?” Dean looked up the long stairs and sighed.

“Hang on, buddy.” Bobby hooked both boy’s bags over his shoulder and then reached down. “Give ‘im here, son.” He gently pried a sleeping Sam from his brother’s arms and cradled him in his own arms.

“Thanks.” Dean swung feeling back into his arms and followed wearily up the stairs and down the hall to the room Bobby kept for them. Dean squeezed past the older man and climbed onto the far bed, kicked his shoes off and tossed the blankets back before raising his arms for his brother. “Gimme.”

Bobby snorted fondly and lowered Sam down until Dean was cradling the toddler against him. “Feels a little warm.”

Dean nodded. “S’got a cold.” He pulled his little brother against him and smiled gratefully as Bobby tugged the blankets up over them. “I got him.”

“Yeah, you do.” Bobby tucked both boys in and rubbed a hand through Dean’s spiky hair. “You yell if you need somethin’.” Dean nodded at him and Bobby brushed his knuckles over little Sam’s over-warm cheek. “Night, boys.”

All the way back downstairs he silently cursed in his head at their father. His youngest was sick and he STILL dumped them off on Bobby’s doorstep in the middle of the damn night. “Single-minded, stubborn, thick-headed jackass!” He growled as he went and sat at his desk. Bobby scrubbed a hand through his hair under his hat and sighed. “’Least he left ‘em with me, I suppose.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Bobby stirred the pot of chicken soup on the stove and cocked his head. He smiled. He could hear Sam’s giggle as his big brother chased him in the living room.

“Read a book!” Sam’s voice said in a high-pitched sing-song. “Dean! Dean! Read a book!”

Bobby chuckled when he heard Dean’s groan and then Sam’s squeal. He looked around the corner and saw Dean carrying his little brother to the couch where he flopped down out of sight with him. He listened to the sound of Dean’s voice for a few minutes while the soup finished, then dished out two bowls and slid them on the table. Bobby strolled over to the living room and looked over Dean’s shoulder to the book he held in front of Sam who was snuggled up in his brother’s lap.

Bobby frowned. Dean was ‘reading’ the story to Sam but…he was clearly making up words that had nothing to do with what was actually on the page of the children’s book. “Lunch is ready boys.” Bobby said.

Dean jumped, whipping his head around to stare wide-eyed at Bobby and blushed furiously as he snapped the book closed. “Uh. Cool. Come on, tiger.”

“More read a book!” Sam bounced in Dean’s lap and grinned.

“Food, midget.” Dean stood, taking Sam with him and made him walk into the kitchen.

“Dean…” Bobby started but how did you ask a proud seven year old why he didn’t know how to read yet? He followed the boys into the kitchen and watched Dean pick his brother up and hoist him into a chair. “Hey, Sammy.” Bobby smiled and leaned down to cup a hand around the three year old’s face. He still felt warm like he had last night but not overly so.

“He’s ok,” Dean said and climbed up into the chair next to Sam. He ducked his head over his soup bowl, still embarrassed at Bobby finding him making up a story for his brother. He could read if he wanted to…he just didn’t need to yet.

Bobby nodded and left them to it when his phone rang. He stepped back into the living room and answered it. “Singer.”

“Bobby, need a little help with a symbol.”

“Winchester.” Bobby growled softly. He glanced back at the kitchen but neither of the boys had heard him. He went further into the house. “You wanna explain to me how a seven-year-old don’t know how to read?”

“Huh…what?” John asked, completely confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Tell me Dean’s been in school the last two years like he’s supposed to be.” Bobby’s voice was low and angry, straining to not rise into a shout for the boy’s sake. The silence on the other end of the line was eloquent and made him growl. “John Winchester, you dumb son of a…”

“Don’t tell me how to raise my sons, Singer!” John shouted. “There are more important things than…”

“Than makin’ sure your boys can count higher than ten or write their own damn names?” Bobby slammed out the back door. “Or you just gonna read counter-curses and exorcisms to them the rest of their lives? You really think their mother wouldn’t kick your ass right now?” He got his temper back under control with difficulty.

“Look. We can talk about this when I get back.” John snarled into the phone. “Right now, I need to know what the hell this damn symbol means.”

“Havin’ trouble reading are we?” Bobby asked sarcastically, unable to resist the jibe.

Bobby slammed back into the house a few minutes later and worked to bury his anger. Dean certainly didn’t deserve it. He went into the kitchen and found the boys where he left them. Sam was leaned into Dean’s side with his eyes closed and huddled under the arm curved over his shoulders. “Think maybe a nap might be in order.”

Dean nodded and slurped up the rest of his soup. “He ate most of it.” He pulled his brother into his lap and slid off his chair with a thump. “Sammy’s just sleepy.”

“M’not,” Sam mumbled defiantly but slung his arms around his brother anyway.

Dean chuckled and grunted, picking him up. “Come on, runt.”

Bobby watched Dean carry him out to the living room and decided something had to change. Those boys were way too smart and Sam absorbed knowledge like a sponge. He smiled and pulled his phone back out while Dean ended up on the couch with Sam curled into him and snoring softly. He needed some books from the local library.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean came downstairs from his shower toweling his hair dry and frowned as he came into the living room. Sam was awake and sitting in Uncle Bobby’s lap with an open book. “What’s goin’ on?”

Bobby smiled and patted the couch next to him. “Come’re, son.” He waited until Dean sat and pulled him in. “I’m teachin’ Sam to read.” He felt he boy jerk under his arm and kept hold of him. He knew there was no way he’d get Dean to admit on his own that he couldn’t, but teaching Sam…Bobby smirked. Dean would make sure he was there for that.

“Dean!” Sam took his big brother’s hand and pulled it over, pointing to the page in the book. “Tha’s’a A!”

Bobby laughed and ruffled Sam’s shaggy hair. “That it is, son. Good job!” He went through the ‘learn to read’ book his friend had brought him and felt Dean slowly relaxing against his side, realizing he wouldn’t have to admit to being illiterate. As Bobby had suspected, Sam seemed to inhale the books and by the time they had dinner, he was pacing around the kitchen in a circle reading the simplest of the books out loud to himself with a grin. Dean sat at the table, finishing off the last of his brother’s chips and surreptitiously looking at the book Bobby had left open in front of him.

Dean scowled, staring at a word he couldn’t quite pronounce in his head. It wasn’t one of Sammy’s kids books. Bobby had dropped it on the table and it was all about cars. He scowled at the page and sighed; defeated. “Uncle Bobby, what’s a carb…a carboo…”

“Carburetor.” Bobby finished for him, pronouncing it slowly and smiled. “Tell ya’ what. You go give Sam his shower tonight and tomorrow I’ll show ya’ where all those parts are in a car.” He raised a finger as Dean’s eyes widened happily. “IF you can name ‘em for me.”

“Yes, sir!” Dean practically bounced out of his seat. He tucked the car book under his arm and swept his little brother up with the other. “Come on, Sammy! Bath time!”

Bobby chuckled over Sam’s squealing protests all the way up the stairs. “Idjits,” He said fondly and went to pour himself a shot, a reward for a plan gone well.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

John Winchester pulled into Singer Salvage five days after he’d left, exhausted and hoping the older man would leave him alone about his sons until he’d had a full night’s sleep. He climbed wearily out of the Impala and started for the house. He stopped with a foot on the bottom step as he heard Sam’s unmistakable laugh coming from the garage further down. He dropped his head and didn’t figure either one of his sons would forgive him for sneaking in without saying hello first.

“Dammit,” John groaned and headed for the garage. His lead had turned out to be a wild goose chase, and he’d ended up having to chase down and kill a zombie Bokor Mambo instead, and THERE was something he hoped he never had to see again. Her lair and altar were going to figure in his nightmares for years to come. He pushed into the garage and his eyes widened in surprise. An old Charger stood in the center with its hood up. Sam lay on the cement floor with his feet up the side of the car and a book held over his face while Dean and Bobby both were leaned into the engine with Dean rambling off names of parts while Bobby grinned and nodded.

Sam rolled his head up and dropped his book as he scrambled to his feet. “Daddy!” Sam ran to the door and threw himself at his father’s legs.

John grunted, staggered back a step and nodded when Dean looked up and smiled before climbing down off the car and coming over. John let his eyes meet Bobby’s then and found a mixture of pride and anger in them. “Singer.”

“Winchester.” Bobby nodded. “Dean, why don’t you take your brother inside. Get him cleaned up. Looks like he was rollin’ in grease.”

Dean snorted and peeled his little brother from their dad’s legs. “Hey, Dad.” He held up his book of cars with a wide grin. “Sammy and I been readin’.”

John watched them head toward the house and turned to look at Bobby again. “If this is your way of making me feel guilty…”

“This is my way of tryin’ to remind you those boys deserve better.” Bobby growled and rolled his eyes. He gave John a push out side. “Put that boy in school, John. He’s too damn smart to not be. He sucked up everything I brought back for him to read in two days, and Sam…” Bobby shook his head. “Pretty sure in a few years that boy’s gonna make us all feel dumb.”

John swallowed his ever-present anger as it swelled. He didn’t like being told how to raise his boys…and liked it even less that Bobby was right. “Fine.” He had to admit, it made him proud to hear how quickly both his sons had taken to reading. He’d honestly not even considered until Bobby had brought it up that Dean didn’t know how.

“You best start savin’ some cash somewhere,” Bobby told him as they reached the porch of the house and could hear Dean yelling inside for his brother to get in the damn tub at the top of his lungs. “I got money on Sam wantin’ to go to college someday.”

John snorted. “My boys are gonna have more important things to do.” He went inside and headed for the back of the house. He wanted sleep and he wanted it now.

“Well, you better start thinkin’ about what you’re gonna do.” Bobby told John’s back and rolled his eyes. Dean was already too hero-struck with his father, and Bobby had no doubt he’d end up a Hunter. But Sam…Bobby smiled. Sam had more in him than that; he was sure of it.

“Sammy! Dammit!”

Bobby looked up the stairs with Dean’s irritated shout and barked out a laugh as the three year old streaked naked and wet past the top of the stairs, laughing, and Dean followed a moment later, pounding after him with a towel.

“Boys!” John’s shout bellowed out from the back of the house and did nothing to quiet the furor upstairs.

Bobby snorted and started upstairs to put an end to it before John decided to come do something about it. “Sam! Come’re!” Bobby hung his head in defeat as Sam shot back out into the hall, now wearing one of Bobby’s baseball hats, still naked, and ran past him back to the bathroom with Dean in close pursuit.

“Uncle Bobby,” Dean panted as he went past and skidded in the hall before turning into the bathroom and slamming the door shut. “Knock it off, runt!”

Bobby scrubbed a hand through his hair and over his face with a laugh. “Gonna be a long day.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	19. For threedays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For threedays - a Supernatural version of the BTVS episode Hush. If you're not a fan, basically what that means is that Sam and Dean wake up one morning and realize their voices, and all the voices in town, are gone, stolen by a villain who can only be killed by a scream. They have to figure out how to work together without words (and without banter, and without bickering, and without Dean being able to utter a single pick-up line to the women in town!) to defeat the monster. I don't care what season it's in, but I would love if Bobby were still around.
> 
> A/N: One of my ALL TIME FAVE episodes of Buffy. :D I’ve been looking forward to this prompt since you sent it to me! LOL Could not wait! Now, hopefully I’ve done it justice adapting this to the Supernatural universe!  
> I think we’ll set this in the first half of season 7 somewhere, just generally. If you haven’t seen this iconic episode of Buffy…go. Find it. Watch it. This isn’t a cross over really, just borrowing the awesome. :D

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam walked back to the motel from the library with his head buried in his research. He looked up every so often to make sure he wasn’t about to walk into a wall, but otherwise was engrossed. The ghost they were after had taken up residence in a massive old house just on the edge of town, and the home’s history was proving to be engrossing reading. He glanced up again, sidestepping a light pole, and stopped. He turned his head and frowned. For a moment, he thought he’d seen a man in a black suit. Sam shook his head and kept walking. He thought he’d seen another guy wearing a black suit earlier in the day and decided it was his head screwing with him. That certainly wouldn’t be unheard of, but he couldn’t quite shake his couple of brief encounters with reapers out of his mind either. And if reapers were lurking around…well, that was never a good thing. He shook his head. Or maybe it was just a guy in a black suit.

The house had many owners over the last hundred and fifty years, and each had died a traumatic death of one sort or another. There were drownings, shootings, one who fell from the roof, and another who was dragged to death by his horse. He raised a brow finding two who were burnt as witches on the front lawn; that had promise. Sam looked up again and jerked back in surprise finding his brother a foot in front of him grinning like an idiot.

“Shit!” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Dude, two more steps and I was gonna send you sprawling.” Dean chuckled and ducked away from the punch Sam threw at him as they turned into the motel parking lot. “You were completely oblivious.”

“Not completely.” Sam smiled over at him. “Smelled you in time, didn’t I?”

“That one’s gonna cost ya’ later.” Dean promised and pulled open the motel room door. He looked down the building, chuckling, and narrowed his eyes at the tall man in a black suit at the end of the block. He looked into the room at Sam and back out and the man was gone. Dean shrugged and went inside. “You find anything?”

“And then some.” Sam held up the thick stack of papers and then dropped them on the table. “Not gonna be easy figuring out which one of these is haunting the house, but they are all buried on the property at least.”

“We could just salt and burn the whole graveyard,” Dean grinned. “Napalm.”

Sam laughed and shook his head. “You’re such a demolitions dork. No.” He sat and started leafing through the pages. “Unless you feel like digging up upwards of twenty graves.”

“Hell, no. Damn.” Dean sighed. “My idea would have been more fun.”

“Probably.” Sam pushed the pile aside and rubbed at his eyes. Hours of staring at microfilm had given him a headache. “Nothing we can do until tonight really.”

“Would you get some damn sleep already?” Dean rolled his eyes. He tugged Sam up out of the chair and pushed him toward the far bed until he stumbled into it and dropped. “You look like crap.”

“Thanks,” Sam groaned, face muffled in his pillow. He rolled his head away from the light from the window and let himself fall asleep.

Dean looked over at the pile of research and then his bed and shrugged. “Screw it,” He said softly. Sam would have all that crap memorized by now anyway. He may as well not start a long night tired. Dean rolled onto his own bed, tossed an arm over his eyes and let sleep claim him as well.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam woke and blinked up at the window. The last light of day was just fading away. He sighed and rolled out of bed. Dean lay sleeping in his own and Sam padded quietly into the bathroom and closed the door. He relieved himself, brushed his teeth, and decided it was time Dean got up too. It wasn’t often he caught his big brother still sleeping, and Sam went back into the bedroom with a grin. He tiptoed over to the bed and bent over, putting his mouth beside his brother’s ear. Sam took in a big breath, opened his mouth, and…nothing happened. He shot straight up in surprise and then fear as no sound at all would pass his lips. His first thought was that somehow he had lost his hearing, but then realized he could hear himself breathing heavily in panic as he tried over and over to shout Dean’s name but there was nothing.

Sam bent and took Dean’s shoulder, shaking him awake. Dean shot up and his eyes widened as he saw the naked fear on his brother’s face. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong and then grabbed his own throat as he failed to hear his own voice. He jumped to his feet, like Sam, assuming in an initial moment of panic that he could not hear. He moved his hand to his ear and mouthed the words, “I can’t hear you,” the meaning perfectly clear to Sam who shook his head and then clapped his hands together, the sudden sound making them both flinch slightly. Dean looked at him in shock, and for several moments, all he could hear in the room was his own panicked breathing and Sam’s. He tried again, Sam easily reading his lips as they formed the silent words, “What the hell?”   
  
Sam shook his head again and shrugged his shoulders, a sudden look of panic crossing his face as he looked around. Dean stared at his brother and heard the difference in his breaths. They hitched with fear, and Sam’s eyes kept darting from him to the room and back as he dug his fingers into the palm of his left hand. Shit. Dean grabbed his little brother’s face and gave it a shake, trying to reassure him with eye contact alone that he wasn’t hallucinating this.

Sam felt cut adrift. This couldn’t really be happening, which meant he was hallucinating, which meant he was damn well cracking up all over again and…his thoughts skittered to a stop when Dean grabbed his head and shook him, staring intensely into his eyes, while his own breaths wheezed in his ears. Dean’s mouth opened and closed around words that wouldn’t come but Sam understood enough to read ‘slow down’ on his lips.

Dean grabbed his brother’s left hand and dug his thumb ruthlessly into the scar until Sam shuddered and his eyes closed. Dean listened for a few seconds and heard him working to slow his breathing down. That crisis averted…for now…he kept a grip on Sam’s hand and dragged him around the bed and to the door of the room. He felt like an idiot holding his little brother’s hand, but if he couldn’t talk to him, he had to have some way of making sure the kid knew this wasn’t his melon exploding all over the walls. Dean pulled the room door open…onto voiceless chaos.

The street outside was filled with people whose mouths and straining faces said they were screaming, yet no sound emerged. They could hear people running, car horns honking, alarms sounding, but not one voice. Panic was running the streets of the little town, and Dean took hold of his brother’s arm and pushed him back into the room. He shut the door and shook his head at Sam; no way they were going out there until they had a plan.

Sam reluctantly pulled his hand free from Dean’s and went to the window to look out between the curtains. If he accepted what Dean was trying to get across, that this was real and not in his head, then something seriously bad was going on and they needed to figure it out. He jumped at a crash behind him and turned to see Dean smiling sheepishly over a stack of books scattered on the floor. He mouthed ‘just checking’ and Sam rolled his eyes. He looked back out the window, and his eyes caught on something near the end of the street, just outside the glow of one of the streetlamps…a man in a black suit. As he watched, the man faded back out of sight.

Dean went to the window when Sam waved an arm at him and rolled his eyes as Sam took his arm and shoved him into it, pointing. Dean looked at him and shrugged; he didn’t see anything to get excited about.

Sam slapped a hand over his face and went to his laptop, flipping it open and dropped into the chair. He could do this at least, research.

Dean pulled his cell phone out and dialed Bobby, put it to his ear and then banged his forehead into the window and closed it before it finished ringing. He jumped when something hit the back of his head and turned to see a balled-up piece of paper roll across the floor and Sam staring at him. Dean glared and Sam smirked.

Sam held up his own cell and pointed to the keyboard, mouthing ‘text’. They couldn’t speak to Bobby, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t communicate with him.

Dean sneered at his little brother, not amused at being caught doing something so obviously pointless, and flipped his phone back open. He hated texting.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

An hour or so later, Sam leaned back from the laptop and glanced over at his brother who stood at the window still, drumming his fingers on the glass as he had been for the last fifteen minutes. Normally the sound would have driven Sam to shout at him but just then…it was almost comforting. Sam tossed another balled-up piece of paper at the back of his head and grinned when Dean spun with his middle finger up.

Sam pointed to the laptop. He’d found what he thought they were looking for. Bobby agreed with him, having done his own research while they texted back and forth.

Dean came over and bent to look at the screen. The page, an email from Bobby, showed a picture of a page in one of his old books. The paper was yellowed and frayed around the edges with age and in the center was a rough sketch of a man in a black suit. He looked more like some twisted undertaker than anything else and curled at his feet like an obedient dog was what appeared to be a partially skeletal human corpse wrapped in rags. Dean grinned and straightened. He held up one hand with three fingers up, dropped two and then grabbed his ear.

Sam’s jaw dropped and he watched wide-eyed as his brother seemed to honestly be suggesting they communicate via Charades. Sam rolled his eyes and made a show of pulling out a legal pad and a pen. He scrawled the word ‘idiot’ across the top page and held it up.

Dean threw his arms up in the air and grabbed it. He hastily wrote ‘you’re no fun anymore’ on the edge and gave it back with a smirk before flipping Sam off again. See? He could communicate just fine without a stupid pen and paper.

Sam took it back with a shake of his head, ripped off the top sheet and started writing furiously. Dean paced around the room, stopping periodically to look out the window. The furor had died down somewhat. Most people had left the streets; probably hiding in their homes waiting for…something. Dean had flipped the tv on a while back and rolled his eyes at an emergency broadcast from the next town over that said they had an outbreak of laryngitis. Really? He’d thought. That was the best they could come up with but for the moment it seemed to be keeping the insanity at bay. Dean rapped his knuckles on the nightstand and raised his brows when Sam glanced up. Sam waved a hand and went back to writing. Dean blew out a breath and went back to the window.

Dean missed the sound of his voice. Hell, he missed the sound of his brother’s voice and THAT was something he’d never admit aloud. He smirked as he watched a lone police cruiser pass the down the street; the blue and red lights strobing through the silent night. He watched a man sprint out of a building across the street and turn down the alley beside it. Dean stiffened in surprise when he saw a man in a black suit emerge and follow him.

Dean ran to his brother and banged a fist on the table, making Sam jump, then grabbed his gun from the weapons bag and ran out the door. He sprinted across the parking lot and the street and heard Sam’s feet pounding behind him as he reached the alley.

Sam clicked on his flashlight. He tapped a hand to Dean’s elbow and made a quick gesture with his head and got a nod from his brother in response, so Sam peeled off taking the left side of the alley. In that moment, he was grateful for the lifetime of learning to intuit what they needed of each other in any given situation with nothing more than a glance or brief gesture; words weren’t always needed. Indeed, this sort of silent communication, at least while in the middle of a hunt, was almost second nature to them. Sam stopped as Dean raised a fist and pointed to the corner ahead. Sam tilted his head to say he had his back and let his brother go ahead a few feet, making sure nothing came out behind them.

Dean took the corner and stopped, staring. The man he’d seen running lay on the pavement in a pool of his own blood, and he was alone. Dean waved a hand to bring Sam to his side and pointed. The man’s chest had been torn open.

Sam swallowed at the scene and eased forward, kneeling beside the dead man while Dean stood over him. He looked into the open chest cavity and his eyes widened. He’d been expecting it but still, seeing it meant he and Bobby were right and they had a serious problem. Sam stood and pointed back down the alley.

They jogged back to the motel and Dean’s eyes scanned the dark streets; alert for any sign of the suited men. Once in the room, Sam went to the table and grabbed the notepad then handed it to his brother.

Dean rolled his eyes and sat. Sam had written a damn novel on the page. As he read though, cold seeped into his stomach and then fear because this…this was bad. The suited men were creatures of ancient Faerie lore. Their name only translated loosely as the Gentlemen but they were anything but gentle. Dean glanced up at his brother with a cock-eyed look for his lousy handwriting, and Sam just shrugged and smiled. Dean shook his head and went back to reading. Every hundred years the Gentlemen would show up in a town and steal the voices of all the townsfolk to protect themselves while they harvested a hundred hearts. He looked up again, tapping his chest and Sam nodded; the victim in the alley had been missing his heart. Dean’s face darkened as he went back to reading.

Sam went to the window to look out at the street. They seemed even darker now he knew what was waiting out there. The Gentlemen would take a hundred hearts from men, women and children throughout the night and then vanish. Their minions were animated corpses of those they had killed in the past and they were vicious. Sam knew what they needed to do. They needed to find the Gentlemen just after a kill and follow them. Somewhere in the town was the box. It would be small and carved and inside were the voices of the townsfolk, trapped. They kept them while they worked because the only thing that could kill the Gentlemen, according to lore, was the scream of a human girl. He shook his head and sincerely hated that they were likely going to have to put a woman in harm’s way to end this.

Dean set the notepad aside and would have groaned if he could give voice to it. He looked up at his little brother and could tell from the tense line of his shoulders that he’d come to the same conclusion. They were gonna have to find a woman to scream for them once they destroyed the box. He stood and pulled the weapons bag over. They couldn’t kill any of them but they could wound them, slow them down; only a woman’s scream could kill them. Dean pulled out a shotgun and handed it to Sam then took out his own sawed-off.

Sam slid the sawed-off shotgun under his jacket, watching Dean do the same and went for the door. Dean stepped out first, eyes scanning the street and went for the car. They’d just have to drive around until they spotted one of the Gentlemen or their minions.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

They’d had to ditch the car and go on foot after nearly being caught up in a curfew round-up. Dean stood now beside a low stone wall with Sam at his side and rolled his eyes. It had taken them three hours to find and follow a Gentleman after a kill, and where does the twisted bastard lead them but right to the haunted house he and Sam had been researching in the first place. It made perfect sense, really. It was on the edge of town, isolated on its own property, and the locals were already well trained to steer clear of it.

Sam tapped Dean’s shoulder and handed him his shotgun then jumped, gripped the edge of the stone wall and pulled himself up. He reached down and the barrel of his gun slapped into his palm. Sam pulled it up, then Dean’s, and dropped inside the wall, keeping watch until Dean landed next to him. He handed his big brother his gun and they set across the lawn at a run. It was two in the morning, and the moon, thankfully, was hidden behind the clouds and shadows covered them as they ran the open space to the side of the house.

It rose up four stories, looking as though it had been brought over from the English countryside and dropped there. The house had gone too many decades without people living in it. It was run down, with drooping shutters, cracked and flaking paint, and black windows long bereft of glass. The once manicured lawn was an overgrown prairie.

Dean nodded to a set of French doors on a patio and moved once he felt Sam’s answering tap on his back. He’d never quite understood when people said ‘silence was deafening’ but throughout the course of the night, Dean had come to miss all the background noise of people’s voices that was usually there at any given time of day. Every other noise seemed magnified, even just the sound of his boots cutting softly through the tall grass.  
  
Sam went wide around his brother and pushed one of the halves of the doors open. It creaked once and went silent; making both men jump at the unseemly loudness of the sound. They eased into the house and a parlor coated in dust. Sam arched a brow at the floor and the clear footprints and drag marks through the heavy layer of dust.

Dean nodded and went for the door. He wished the bad guys had picked a smaller damn house; searching it without being caught was going to be near impossible. He stepped into the hall and glared at his brother when Sam motioned to himself going one way and Dean the other. It was a pitched, silent battle with both men glaring, shaking heads and gesturing until finally Dean decided to make a point and landed a solid punch in his little brother’s stomach.

Air whooshed out of Sam’s mouth without the shout that should have accompanied it. Dean raised a brow and smiled, the look clearly saying ‘what happens if you get jumped? You can’t call for help. I win.’

Sam glared at him as he straightened and rubbed his stomach, then took out his cell phone and held it up. He quickly fired off a text, smiling when Dean’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

Dean pulled it out and looked. The message said ‘I can take care of myself’. Dean gave him the look that comment deserved and sent his own message.

Sam read it and sighed. ‘How r u gontext if youre out cold?’ He smirked at Dean’s lack of texting skills and shook his head. He tucked his phone back in his pocket and put his hands up in surrender. Dean did have a point, even if Sam’s way the search would go more quickly.

Dean gave a satisfied, knowing smirk and tugged him down the hall toward the center of the first floor. They both flattened themselves to the wall at the sound of something hissing near the end of the hall. Sam pulled back into the shadows as one of the Gentlemen’s minions crawled into sight and headed up a flight of stairs. It was a decaying body wrapped in soiled bandages with part of its skull exposed, and its hand it carried what could only be a human heart.

Dean let anger wash through him with the sight. He used it to focus him and knew Sam was doing the same; he could feel the anger radiating from him. Sam never took it well when innocents were hurt, and the knowledge that there were a hundred potential victims…they were definitely driven to put an end to this tonight. Dean moved out of the shadows and toward the stairs, anxious to follow the creature and find the damn box.

They reached the third floor, following the hissing thing above them on the stairs, before their luck ran out. Two of the skeletal things erupted from a door ahead of them with snarling hisses. Dean fired. The blast from his shotgun was deafening in the hall and knocked one of the creatures back to the floor. The second made an inhuman leap through the air, jerking as Sam’s shotgun went off into its head, and then it bowled into Dean, knocking him into Sam and taking the three of them to the floor in a pile.

Sam saw stars as the breath was knocked out of him. Still, he dragged the barrel of the shotgun up and fired point blank into the minion’s face. It tumbled back, and Dean rolled off Sam’s stomach, allowing him to wheeze in a grateful breath.

Dean spared Sam a glance and then turned back to the creatures. He fired the other barrel of his shotgun, knocking the minion back a few feet, but the first skittered along the floor like it had joints in all the wrong places. Dean ducked out of its path, aiming a kick at the thing’s head, but it had its gaze set on Sam. Dean would have shouted a warning, wanted to scream it, as the thing launched from the floor and took his brother in the chest. They both rolled onto the landing of the stairs, and Dean was forced to deal with the other as it came for him.

Sam’s mouth opened in a silent scream of agony as the minion’s clawed hand dug into his stomach while its other grappled with Sam’s shoulder and dug into the meat of his arm. He drove his knee up into the thing’s stomach, grabbed hold of the minion’s bony, fleshless arms, and threw it backwards over the banister to drop down to the first floor with a crash. Dean was there a moment later, pulling him to his feet with wide eyes. Sam nodded to say he was alright, though he wasn’t exactly, and they moved, now in a race to reach the box before an army of the creatures descended on them.

Dean pulled Sam along knowing they didn’t have time for him to check his brother’s wounds. It would just have to wait. Now he wished he’d won the argument about bringing a woman along to scream for them once the box was destroyed. Sam’s morals had won out.

Sam made heavy use of the banister to pull himself up the stairs behind Dean. The sound of their footsteps echoed in his ears along with his labored breathing. His stomach felt like nails had been driven into it, and his left shoulder was a burning agony. He sucked in a breath and tried to control his breathing. He had to hold it together better than this or Dean could be distracted at a critical moment worrying about him instead.

Dean appreciated the effort he heard Sam making behind him as they pounded up the stairs. There was little point in being stealthy after the shotgun blasts. He reached the fourth floor landing and checked the hall while Sam came up beside him. He glanced at his little brother and the first thread of fear worked its way into him when he got a good look at the far too copious amount of blood covering him. He put a hand on Sam’s good shoulder and raised his brows at him.

Sam shook his head and nodded down the hall; they didn’t have time. He’d be fine. Sam hefted his shotgun and made to take the lead. He smiled wearily when Dean predictably glared and stepped ahead of him. He missed being able to hear his brother snarl angrily at him, he found. Sam put one hand out to the wall as they crept quickly down the hall. His head was beginning to spin with blood loss.

Dean motioned Sam back against the wall as they neared a door in the center of hall. He flattened himself to the wall and peered around the side of the door. His eyes widened in surprise. The room was large, dominated by a wide, floor-to-ceiling window that looked out on the front lawn. In the center of the room, a man and woman lay on the floor, held down by several of the Gentlemen’s skeletal minions. A Gentleman leaned over the man with a small knife and slid it almost gracefully into his chest while the man’s back arched off the floor in a silent scream of agony. Beyond that macabre tableaux sat a small, ornate wooden box on the floor in front of the window. It surprised him that something so small could hold the voices of an entire town.

Sam tapped his brother’s shoulder and frowned when Dean turned back to him with wide, concerned eyes. Dean held up two fingers to him and tapped his heart. Sam nodded miserably. There were two victims inside. He sucked in a breath when Dean then held up five fingers – five bad guys, and he was already playing hurt.Sam outlined a box with his hand and Dean nodded. So, they had no choice. They were going to have to fight their way through. Sam nodded to say he was ready.

Dean knew his little brother was anything but ready. He’d left a trail of blood spots that glistened darkly down the hall behind them, but there was no other choice. Dean also knew he couldn’t do it alone. Dean spat a soundless curse. He drew an outline of the box in the air and pointed firmly to Sam, waiting for his nod and then turned back to the door. Dean took a deep breath to steady himself and spun into the room. He fired instantly into the face of the Gentleman where it knelt above the now still man. Its face was pale white with wide, black eyes and a mouth that looked to be sealed shut. The Gentleman fell back on the floor while the two minions who had been holding the man turned on Dean instead.

Sam staggered in behind his brother. He took the scene in quickly, agonizing that he couldn’t take the time to help the woman still pinned to the floor. She was young and blonde and her mouth opened wide as she tried to scream while thrashing in the grip of the minions who still held her. Sam shot a round of rock salt into the undead creature reaching for his brother’s legs and then ran for the far side of the room and the window.

Dean stumbled back into the wall and rammed the butt of his shotgun into a half-rotting face. He kicked it away from him and fired again at the other creature as it leaped for him. The rock salt blasted chunks from its chest, but didn’t stop it crashing into him. The air was punched out of Dean’s lungs as he was taken to the floor. His shotgun spun off across the floor and he grappled with the minion’s clawed hands, keeping them from his throat. Dean strained his neck to look over and saw Sam drop to his knees beside the box. He wanted to scream at him to hurry up, and then opened his mouth, agonizing at being unable to tell his brother to watch his back as the Gentleman rose up behind him.

Sam brought the butt of the shotgun up and slammed it down onto the box. The wood cracked beneath the force and there was a chorus of angry hissing behind him. He ignored it and brought the butt up again. Sam gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder and crashed it down into the box again. The box split under the impact as the top shattered. There was a blinding flash of light, and Sam watched as an army of small lights shot up out of the box and raced out through the window, shattering the glass outward with a crash.

Dean felt the creature above him jerk as Sam shattered the box. He rolled, taking it beneath him and drove his fist into the thing’s face, sending teeth skittering across the floor. He reared back in surprise at a sudden, ear-piercing scream from beside him. The woman’s voice rose up into the silence, her scream echoing in the room. The Gentleman and the minions let loose an unearthly howl, and Dean watched the creature beneath him shake violently and turn to dust. Dean looked over, and the dark-suited figure still stood above Sam’s unprotected back.

“Keep screaming!” Dean shouted and the sound of his own voice surprised him, sounding too loud in his ears. “SCREAM!”

The woman’s eyes widened, but she drew in a deep breath as she scrambled away from the piles of dust that had been minions. She opened her mouth wide and screamed loud and long, her face reddening with the effort as she looked up at the Gentleman. The thing’s body rocked with the force of the sound. Its limbs shook, giving it the look of being electrocuted, and then it burst apart in a shower of red.

Dean sagged onto his hands in relief, listening to the woman’s heavy breathing and whimpers. He heard a ragged groan from the other side of the room and jerked. “Sammy.” Dean was up before he’d finished the thought, never so happy to hear his little brother in pain in his life. He knelt beside Sam’s prone form. “Hey, buddy. Come on.” He rolled Sam up so he was sitting and pulled him over to the wall, propping him against it.

“Girl.” Sam raised a weary, blood-stained hand. His voice sounded too loud after so much silence as he pointed to her.

Dean rolled his eyes and patted Sam’s shoulder. “Stay.” He rose and went to the woman. She sat against the wall with her knees pulled up and her arms around them, her eyes still too wide. “Hey. You alright?” Dean watched her blue eyes rise up to meet his, and then she looked over to the man. Dean glanced back at him and sighed. The guy was definitely dead, his own heart lying still upon his chest next to a gaping hole in a puddle of his own blood. “It’s alright. You’re gonna be fine.” He waited until she nodded and then went back to his brother.

“Hey.” Sam looked up at Dean and smiled.

Dean chuckled. “Hey. Never thought I’d miss your whining, princess.”

“Bite me,” Sam said with a smile and closed his eyes. He groaned when Dean pulled his good arm and tugged him to his feet. Sam’s eyes shot open in surprise when he felt a second set of hands on him. He looked down and found the blonde woman sliding under his left side, trying to steady him without hurting his obviously wounded shoulder. “Thanks.”

She nodded jerkily. “Don’t mention it.” Her voice was hoarse and soft.

“I’m Sam.” He smiled at her and nodded to his brother. “This is Dean. Ignore him if he flirts with you.”

“Dude.” Dean glared at him. “My brother’s an ass by the way.”

She gave a short, strained laugh but smiled. “I’m Summer.” She looked briefly down at the man as they passed him and closed her eyes. “I don’t even know who he was.”

“It’s alright.” Sam clenched his teeth and got his left arm up over her shoulders.

“What…what even happened? I mean…” Summer shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“You got away from a serial killer,” Dean said and leaned around his brother to meet her eyes. “That’s what you tell the cops ‘cause if you try and tell ‘em what you really saw…”

“They’d put me in a padded room. Yeah.” Summer nodded her head. “I get that.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “I think I’d lock me up too.”

Dean snorted softly and hefted Sam’s arm higher on his shoulder as he grew heavier. “Hey, sasquatch. No passing out ‘til we get to the car. I ain’t carryin’ your heavy ass down four flights of stairs.”

Sam smirked and breathed deeply, smiling. He’d missed his brother’s voice, even if he was being irritating. He gritted his teeth down all four flights of stairs with his big brother’s voice comfortingly in his ear, urging him on. They reached the car, and Sam leaned heavily against it with a groan of relief. “Hey…Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean pulled open the passenger door and gestured at Summer to get in the back.

“You said…til we get…to the c-car.” Sam’s head fell to the roof with a thump.

“Shit!” Dean caught his little brother as he slid down the side of the car, grunting under his weight.

Summer laughed softly. “Well, you did tell him to wait until we got to the car.”

Dean lifted Sam into the passenger seat, propping him in place with the seatbelt and eased the door shut. He shook his head. “The one time the idiot actually listens to me.” He smiled at the girl and headed around to the driver’s side. “Get in. We’ll take you home first.” Dean climbed behind the wheel, turned the car on and stretched his arm out to keep a hand on Sam’s neck so he could feel his brother’s heart beating. It was a little bit fast and not quite as strong as usual, but within a range Dean found acceptable. He glanced again at Summer in the rearview mirror. “Where to?”

“Sunnydale Drive.” Summer leaned back in the seat and watched the old house as they slid away from the curb. “Shouldn’t you get him to a hospital?”

Dean shook his head and glanced at his unconscious brother. “Trust me, honey. You wanna stay the hell out of hospitals for a while unless you’re dying.”

“Why?” Summer leaned on the seat in front of her with a worried glance for Sam’s bloodied appearance.

“You don’t wanna know,” Dean assured her and visions of hungry leviathans passed through his mind. “You really don’t. He’ll be fine.” He snorted and rolled his eyes when Sam’s head rolled over to rest on his forearm above the grip Dean had on the back of his neck.

“Thank you, by the way.” Summer met Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “For saving my life and stuff.”

Dean smiled. “That’s what we do, sweetheart.” He put his eyes back on the road and started humming, needing to hear his own voice.

“Z’at s’posed to be…’tallica?” Sam’s slurred voice made Dean jump and Summer laugh.

“What do you mean ‘supposed to be’?” Dean glared over at him though Sam had yet to open his eyes, he was smirking. “I sounded awesome.”

Sam snorted, still not entirely conscious. “Dyin’ water…water buff’lo.”

“Shut up.” Dean growled and glared at Summer in the mirror until she subsided to muffling her laughter and he gave his brother’s head a little shake. “Everybody’s a critic.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	20. For cruisingbug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For cruisingbug - I'd like my one-shot to be about a Selkie, please. Anytime pre-Death's Door.
> 
> A/N: We’re going with season 2 here, the boys and Bobby. :D I guessed that because you made a point of saying ‘pre death’s door’ you specifically wanted our lovely Bobby alive, well and appearing. Lol

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

The prow of the boat cut cleanly through the calm lake. Lights shined from each side of the craft into the dark waters around it. Dean leaned out over the stern with a harpoon gun aimed at the water. “You sure this bitch is out here, Bobby?”

Bobby Singer rolled his eyes from his position at the wheel. “No, Dean. I thought we’d all just take a moonlight cruise on a damn lake. YES, I’m sure.”

Dean snorted a laugh. “Okay, okay. Don’t get your panties in a knot.”

“Sam?” Bobby called to the young man at the front of the boat. “How you feel ‘bout bein’ an only child?”

Sam laughed and glanced back over his shoulder. “I think I’m not gonna answer that. I don’t want to wake up bald in the morning.”

“Knew that college education had to pay off somewhere, Sammy!” Dean shouted over the noise of the engine and turned back to the wake behind the boat with a satisfied chuckle. He was actually enjoying being on the water hunting a selkie. Sam had looked suitably disgusted when Dean had suggested he hoped they could catch her on land without her fur. He chuckled and decided he was glad they were going to gank her in the water; harpooning a hot, naked chick would have sucked, and she definitely deserved death. The selkie had lured five men to their deaths already in the last month.

“You’d think a whole boat of men would lure her out,” Bobby groused behind the wheel. They’d been on the water for three hours already without a sign of the creature. He wanted a beer already dammit.

“I saw something!” Sam called out from the bow. He grabbed the spotlight and shined it down into the water, sure he had seen something large move through the water just ahead of the boat. Selkies were much larger than normal seals and whatever he’d seen had certainly been big enough.

“Where is it?” Bobby slowed the boat.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know. It was there and then…”

“Here! It’s here!” Dean watched a dark shape shoot out from under the boat. He raised his spear gun, taking aim and snarled when the creature dove out of sight again. “Dammit!”

“She’s got our scent now!” Bobby eased off the throttle and let the boat drift to a stop. He picked up his own harpoon gun and went to the side to peer over into the dark waters. “She ain’t gonna just leave us out here.” The creature returned, sweeping in a wide arc around the boat and Bobby shot his harpoon toward it. “Balls!” He cursed as the weapon went wide of its target when the selkie seemed to turn on a dime and dove beneath the boat again.

“Who wants to take a swim?” Dean asked and turned to look at his brother with a grin.

“Pass.” Sam rolled his eyes. “You can go wrestle the seal if you want. I’ll take pictures of you getting your ass…” He broke off on a gasp as the entire boat rocked wildly.

“Whoa.” Dean grabbed on to the side with wide eyes as the boat’s movement threatened to roll him over the side.

Sam moved back from the bow to the wheel. “I think maybe we should get the boat moving again, Bobby. We’re sitting ducks like this.”

“That’s the idea, Sam.” Bobby smiled up at him briefly. “How else we gonna draw her in? Don’t worry. It’s a big boat.”

Sam smirked and nodded. Bobby had managed to find them a nice, deep-sea fishing boat. “Gonna check the sonar.” He slid down the short ladder and ducked into the cabin beneath the wheelhouse.

Dean kept a firm grip on the rail next to him as the boat rocked again. “It’s gotta be under us. Sam?”

“Yeah!” Sam watched the large blip on the monitor swim out and then turn back. “It’s coming back for another pass! Starboard!”

Bobby and Dean went to the starboard rail, harpoon guns ready, but underestimated the speed the creature could move. It sliced through the water in a blur and crashed into the hull. All three men shouted in surprise as the deck tilted and the boat was turned on its side.

“Shit. SHIT!” Dean yelled as they were heeled over into the water and gasped when he went into the cold water.

Bobby tried to throw himself clear and grunted as the side of the boat caught a glancing blow on the side of his head and he slipped into the water.

Sam braced his arms on the cabin as the boat rolled and thumped into the roof. Water rushed in through the open door and Sam tried to right himself. “Dean! Bobby!” He groaned when it rocked again and threw him into the cabinets. He sank into the rising water and tried to kick and swim through the hatch but the pressure of water rushing in shoved him back.

Dean came up sputtering and still had hold of his spear gun. “Sam! Bobby?” He ducked under the water and saw Bobby’s flannel illuminated for a moment in a spotlight. He kicked hard and wrapped a hand in the older Hunter’s shirt, pulling him to the surface. “Bobby!” Dean pulled him back and smiled while Bobby coughed up water. “You ok?”

“Good,” Bobby nodded and spat water out. “I’m good. You? Sam?”

Having been momentarily distracted with Bobby, Dean’s head snapped around scanning the water, realizing with a sickening jolt that his brother had not surfaced. “Sammy?” Dean swam over to the upturned hull of the boat. “Sam! Answer me!”

Sam heard his brother’s voice calling him. “Dean!” He planted his feet on the ceiling and banged on the floor. “Dean! I’m here!” The water was nearly to his neck and he forced himself to stay calm. All he had to do was wait for the water to fill the cabin and then he could swim out. “I’m ok!”

Dean’s heart leaped into his throat hearing his brother’s voice from inside the hull. “Bobby?”

“He’s gonna be fine!” Bobby said quickly and swam over to him, the panic in Dean’s voice was obvious. “He’s a good swimmer. You know that.”

“Swims like a fish, I know.” Dean nodded and banged on the hull. “Sammy?” He’d taught his little brother to swim, and Sam, who’d been a gangly, awkward, stumbling kid, had taken to swimming like he’d been born to it.

“Almost!” Sam yelled back. The water was at his chin and he could feel the inflow lessening against his legs. “Be out…in a minute!” He had complete confidence in his ability to swim out and up but it didn’t stop the nagging fear as the water climbed his face and he sucked in a last breath.

Dean snarled and pushed off the hull. He sucked in a breath and ducked under the water. He swam down a few feet and got a look at the door into the cabin. Two of the flood light were still lit and gave enough light to watch as his little brother’s head and shoulders appeared in the door. Dean grinned and waved an arm at him to hurry his ass up.

Sam swam to the cabin door and used it to pull himself out into open water. His lungs were burning with the need for air as he planted his feet on the cabin and bent his legs to push off for the surface. He stretched up and never saw the dark shape that hurtled into his stomach. All the air whooshed out of his lungs with the impact as he was shoved away through the water.

Dean saw the selkie a second before it impacted with Sam. He screamed under the water and watched as Sam vanished into the dark, dragged away by the creature. Dean kicked for the surface and sucked in a lungful of air. “Bobby! It’s got Sam!”

“What?” Bobby turned as Dean broke the surface, yelling. “What do you mean it’s got him?”

“It nailed him right as he came out!” Dean swam for the overturned boat and clumsily climbed on top of it to get a better view. “SAMMY!”

“No, no, no, no, no!” Bobby dove and went for one of the spotlights. He wrestled it free of its mounting and came back up. “Here! See if you can find him!”

Dean grabbed the light from Bobby and played it out over the lake in the direction he’d seen the selkie take his brother. “Bobby, I can’t see him! SAM!” He searched the lake surface frantically. There was a splash yards away, and Dean tossed the light to Bobby before standing and diving back into the water. He knew it was his brother. If asked, Dean wouldn’t have been able to say how, but he knew with complete surety that he was following Sam and the selkie. The clouds parted and allowed the moon to shine through, glinting off the lake. Dean saw something large and dark hump up out of the water once, then again further on. He bent his head and put on more speed. Sam was the stronger swimmer. It was one of the few things he could easily outstrip Dean at. He hadn’t beat his little brother in a pool race since he was fourteen. He begged his body now to find extra speed somewhere as he drew closer to the shore with his lungs burning from exertion.

Dean’s arms and legs were close to giving out by the time he felt ground beneath him. He staggered up and out onto the beach with his eyes scanning the moonlit sand. “Sam!” He drew the gun still thankfully tucked into his belt and moved down the beach towards where the moonlight showed him what looked like a body, what looked like his brother’s body. It made his blood run cold, and then he saw it move. “Sammy?” Dean broke into a run despite his tired body. He squinted into the dark and startled as he got close to enough to see, and heard Sam suddenly cough. A naked woman leaned over his brother. She looked up with wide, dark eyes as he neared.

“Get away from him!” Dean shouted. His finger was squeezing the trigger as she suddenly stood and bolted into the water, making a graceful dive out of sight. “Ok, that was new.” He lowered the gun and ran to his brother. “Sammy?” Dean dropped beside him in the sand and took his shoulder, pulling him over onto his side as he coughed water. “Breathe, buddy. Breathe.”

Sam struggled to get air in past the water coming up and let the sound of Dean’s voice help calm him. He wrapped a hand around his brother’s arm and opened his eyes. “Don’t,” Sam gasped, seeing Dean looking out to the water.

“What?” Dean looked down and helped Sam to sit up. Something dark lay in the sand beside him, and Dean reached across his brother and rested his hand on damp fur, a selkie skin.

“Saved me,” Sam gasped, and pulled Dean’s hand with the gun down away from the water. “Two…two of them.”

“There’s two selkies out there?” Dean asked in surprise and thumped Sam’s back a couple times to help clear his lungs as Sam nodded. He looked back out to the water and jerked when he saw the woman’s head bobbing in the lake offshore. She was watching them.

Sam wheezed air in and out and allowed himself the luxury of leaning on his big brother. “First one tried to drown me.” He coughed again, grateful for the arm Dean put across his chest to keep him from face-planting into the sand. “Dragged me…dragged me down. Ran out of air…” He shuddered at the memory of breathing in water in the blackness.

“Easy, Sammy.” Dean squeezed the back of his neck in sympathy.

“She chased the other one off.” Sam looked up and saw her out there and down to his side and the skin lying there. “Tried to…to get me to the surface before…but…”

“Ok. You’re alright.” Dean put his gun away against his better judgment. He looked out at the selkie again and back to Sam and grinned. “Dude. You got mouth to mouth from a naked chick.”

Sam rolled his eyes and would have laughed if he hadn’t still been relearning how to breathe. “Not a chick.”

“Hot, naked chick on the beach.” Dean chuckled and stood, bringing Sam up with him. “You get all the luck. You know, except for the drowning part.”

Sam managed a small laugh and hunched over his chest, wrapping his arms around himself. “Crap.”

“What?” Dean pushed at his arms. “Move and lemme look.”

“I’m ok. The other selkie bruised some ribs or something when she slammed into me.” Sam nodded out to the water. “We need to let her come back and get her skin.”

“No we don’t,” Dean said firmly. “I’m grateful she saved your ass and all, but she’s still one of the monsters, Sam.”

“One of the good ones.” Sam straightened and met his brother’s eyes. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive, remember?”

Dean scowled, not needing an abject reminder of Gordon or vegetarian vampires just then. “Dammit. Fine.” He helped Sam move up the beach toward the woods because, like it or not, Sam was right about that.

Sam stopped them thirty feet away and turned back. The selkie was closer to the shore, lying in the shallows. “It’s alright,” Sam called to her. “Thank you.” He motioned to her skin and waited, feeling Dean tense beside him as her naked form rose up out of the water. She ran up the beach and grabbed up her skin; clutching it to herself and watching them as she backed toward the water. “Wait!” Sam raised a hand but didn’t move, not wanting to spook her. “Can you tell us…why?” The selkie cocked her head to the side curiously. “The other selkie. Why is she killing men?”

She seemed to consider for a moment and took another step toward the lake. “Killed her son. Caught in man’s nets.”

Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat as the selkie turned and dove into the water. A moment later, a massive seal broke the surface and then headed back out into the lake. He looked around then and frowned. “Uh…Dean? Where’s Bobby?”

Dean slapped a hand into his head with a groan. “Crap. He’s uh…watching the boat?”

“Alone? With a vengeful selkie?” Sam lunged toward the water and tugged as Dean kept hold of him.

“You’re not swimming back out there, dammit! Calm down!” Dean pulled Sam back toward the trees and cupped a hand around his mouth. “BOBBY!” He bellowed and turned his head to listen. “We weren’t that far out when the boat capsized.” Dean put his hand up to his mouth again. “I’VE GOT SAM!” He listened and heard splashing.

“Thanks for the head’s up, idjits!” Bobby’s voice came over the water and was followed by a surprised shout.

“Bobby! Stay here!” Dean pushed Sam against a tree and took off. He ran a few steps into the shallows and stopped in surprise as the selkie came up, towing Bobby behind her. It made a wide u-turn around Dean and let Bobby glide up onto the sand before she dove back out of sight. Dean chuckled and watched the older Hunter pick himself up while spitting sand.

“You better not be laughin’ at me, son.” Bobby glared up at Dean but didn’t turn down the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet with Dean’s arm. “There’s two of them bitches out there!”

“Yeah.” Dean laughed. “We got that.” He looked up and snarled as Sam staggered up to them and took Bobby’s other arm. “What’d I say?”

Sam gave him a lopsided grin and shrugged. “You know I don’t listen when you talk.”

Bobby snorted and grabbed Sam’s shoulders to get a good look at him. “You alright?” He smiled when Sam rolled his eyes and finally let go of the fear that had gripped him when the boat overturned. “Well, now what?” He let go of Sam and turned to look out at the lake.

“We use me as bait.” Sam said and raised his hands to stop the instant outrage on Dean’s face. “We already know she wants to kill me. Don’t worry. I’m not stupid enough to go back in the water.” He pointed to the beach. “I’ll lay there. She’ll come up to finish the job and you and Bobby take her down.”

“No way,” Dean said reflexively even as he watched Bobby nod in agreement. “Come on! She already tried to drown his ass, and now we’re gonna leave him out here like a damn appetizer?”

“It’s a good plan.” Bobby shrugged and grabbed Dean’s arm. “Get comfy, Sam.” Dean opened his mouth to protest again, but Bobby cut him off. “Dean, dammit. Shut up. He’ll be fine.”

“We’re gonna have a talk about this later, Sammy!” Dean growled at his brother, and reluctantly let Bobby pull him back toward the trees. He jerked his arm free with a snarl and drew his gun. Dean slid behind a tree trunk and turned to watch Sam lower himself painfully to the sand. “Dammit,” he whispered. The pat Bobby dropped on his shoulder did nothing to lessen his nerves. Sam was bruised and half-drowned, and he needed to be in a damn bed sleeping it off, not playing bait-boy for a blood-thirsty sea bitch.

“Ease up, son,” Bobby said softly from the tree next to him and kept his eyes on the water beyond Sam’s feet. “He knows what he’s doing.” It was a good plan, though he was as nervous about putting Sam in harm’s way again as Dean was; he was just too damn stubborn to show it with Dean being pissed enough for both of them.

Dean stared out at his little brother, the gentle rise and fall of Sam’s chest the only thing keeping his nerves from making him run out and drag Sam away from the beach and danger. It was still too soon, too soon after their father’s death, and purposefully tossing Sam out as bait scared him. It had been bad enough when his father died. But when he thought of losing Sam…Dean doubted he would survive that. There was a splash and water rippled out on the lake. He raised his gun and watched as a dark shape rose up in the shallows not ten feet from his brother.

Sam kept his eyes closed with difficulty. He could hear the water splashing as the creature came near. He dared not even crack his eyes to see and risk the selkie realizing he was bait and fleeing. His skin crawled with the need to grab a gun and protect himself, but he trusted his brother and Bobby to have his back.

Dean watched the seal rear up and his eyes widened as flippered hands reached up and began to peel the dark brown skin like it had a zipper. A beautiful woman emerged with water sheeting off her naked form as she stepped from the lake and let her seal skin slide to the sand behind her. She may have been a monster on a murderous rampage, but Dean could appreciate the stunning beauty of the thing. No wonder sailors used to trap them in human form to turn them into wives.

Sam knew she was standing over him. He could hear her breathing and almost hear the difference in the air. He jerked as the first gunshot echoed in the night air and his eyes flew open. The selkie stood over him, inches away, and stared down at her own chest and the small hole between her breasts as blood began to pour forth. She glared down at him and then turned her head up to the trees. There was another shot, and Sam scrambled back on his elbows as her head jerked back and she fell over into the surf.

“Sammy?” Dean yelled and ran from his cover.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Sam got clumsily to his knees and a moment later Dean was there, taking his arm and pulling him up. “Look.” He pointed and watched the second Selkie, the one who had saved him emerge from the water. She didn’t slip her skin but came up in her seal form. Her big, brown eyes met Sam’s briefly, sorrowfully and then she gently took the shoulder of the dead Selkie in her mouth and pulled her into the water.

“We just let her go like that?” Dean asked softly.

Bobby nodded. “It’s dead. Look at the skin.” He pointed and they watched as the discarded seal skin began to dissolve into the sand. “I’ll keep an eye on the lake; make sure our friendly Selkie doesn’t go vengeful in the future.”

“Can we go now?” Sam shivered, finally feeling the cold and crossed his arms over his chest and his aching ribs.

“Yeah, come on, bait-boy.” Dean grinned and pulled Sam into a walk. “Where the hell did we park from here?”

Bobby laughed and gestured. “’bout twenty minutes that way.”

Sam groaned. “Awesome.”

“Dean, why don’t you jog ahead and get the car?” Bobby smirked and pulled Sam to him, sliding the boy’s arm over his shoulders. “I got this.”

“What?” Dean stared in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”

“Careful. Wouldn’t wanna get my panties in a knot, now would I?” Bobby raised a brow at him, reminding Dean of his comments earlier. “Get movin’, son.”

“Aw, man!” Dean groaned as Sam gave him a shove away with a laugh.

Sam chuckled as Dean flipped him off and started down the beach at a jog. “Hey, Bobby. If you make me an only child, can I have the bigger room?”

“Kickin’ your ass when I come back, Sammy!” Dean shouted angrily.

Sam laughed and squeezed his arm more firmly over his chest. “Crap…ow.”

Bobby snorted at Sam’s discomfort and shook his head. “Stop hurtin’ yourself already.” He hitched Sam’s arm higher on his shoulders and smirked. “Save it for when he figures out he forgot to get the keys from me.”

“Oh…oh, man.” Sam doubled over laughing and wincing at the same time while Bobby held him up off the beach and laughed with him. “He’s gonna…gonna kill you.”

Bobby patted Sam’s back where he hunched over his supporting arm and chuckled. “I ain’t scared of him.” They both heard the unmistakable sound of Dean cursing in the distance and the laughter took Sam to his knees with Bobby beside him. “Then again…”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	21. For Little White Comet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Little White Comet - Season 8. I don't mind what their hunting but I would like Sam's new found occupation as a Man of Letters to come up somehow, with lots of Hurt!Sam and BigBrother!Dean in it if you please
> 
> A/N: A little hurt and comfort in season 8. :D I hope this is what you were hoping for.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean drove with single-minded need. He had one hand on the wheel and the other pressed against his little brother’s chest in the passenger seat…above the blood and the creepy, way too sharp and pointy ancient Greek athame standing out of his right side. “Sammy?”

Sam nodded. “I’m alright.” His voice was breathy and strained, and he tried to keep it even for Dean’s sake. Few things, he knew, could damage his big brother’s calm so quickly and completely as him being hurt, and hurt this bad…Sam could see Dean’s jaw clenching with barely contained panic. “I’m good.”

“Right,” Dean growled. He wanted to take Sam to a hospital, even with the lingering threat of leviathans out there, but his brother was right -- removing the weapon without the right words spoken over it would kill him, no matter that it hadn’t actually struck anything vital. The damn thing was cursed to suck Sam’s life out with it if removed wrong. He pressed harder on Sam’s chest as he took a corner and gave a relieved sigh when the bunker finally came into view at the end of the overgrown road.

“I’ll f-find it.” Sam reassured Dean as the car came to a stop. It had been the first time they’d ever gone after a whole coven of witches; and, with the exception of the jackass in charge, they hadn’t been bad people, just misguided, and had run the moment they’d seen him and Dean and their guns…all but the jackass. He’d put up a fight, shouting threats and curses, and Dean had shot him just a second too late as he’d left the athame in Sam’s side. Sam groaned as Dean slid out of the Impala and the car rocked making the blade hurt more.

The self-proclaimed warlock had been very clear -- if they pulled the blade out, Sam would die instantly. Dean had believed him while Sam had initially scoffed and taken hold of the handle. He’d only moved it a millimeter when the ornate carving on the handle began to glow blue and Sam felt as though his soul were being sucked out of him. After everything hell and purgatory had thrown at him -- and taught him -- a frantic Dean, with Sam’s life on the line, had no qualms about threatening the dying witch with all sorts of additional pain in his remaining minutes of life unless he told them how to undo the curse. Dean would have done it, too, but the dangerous glitter in the ice-cold glare he turned on the man seemed to be enough to convince him he was serious. He gasped out that there was an incantation that would render it safe to remove, moments before succumbing to his wound, but cackling gleefully with his dying breath, promising that they would never find it in time. A desperate search of the guy’s house, however, turned up no trace of the counter-curse, so their last hope lay in the vast library compiled by generations of the organization known as the Men of Letters.

“Ok, buddy. Here we go.” Dean opened the passenger door and put a steadying hand around the weapon’s handle and eased Sam up out of the seat. Fear had damn near choked him when Sam had tried to pull it out and collapsed, gasping into his arms while all the color had drained from his face and the warlock…had laughed. Dean was hovering now to make absolutely sure the thing didn’t move until they could safely take it out. He steadied his little brother and nudged the Impala’s door shut.

“Shit,” Sam gasped and leaned heavily on Dean as his legs went weak. The athame had missed his vital organs, but he was still losing enough blood to make him dizzy. He remembered the warlock laughing at him even while blood bubbled over his lips and had gleefully told the ‘Man of Letters to have fun trying to save himself’ and that made Sam’s blood run cold. How had the son of a bitch even known about that?

“Work with me here, tiger,” Dean would have carried Sam in if he could figure out how to do it without killing him. He felt Sam get his legs under him again and started leading him to the bunker door.

Sam nodded. He was so tired and it took a ridiculous amount of his willpower to keep his feet moving while Dean half-carried him down the stairs. “I’m ok, Dean. I’m…it’s ok.”

“This is not ok!” Dean yelled and took a quick breath, sucking his temper back under control. He helped Sam shuffle down the stairs into the bunker making sure to keep a hand clamped around the handle protruding from his stomach.

“It’ll be…” Sam stopped at the bottom of the stairs and would have gone to his knees coughing if not for Dean’s arms holding him up. “…f-fine. Just have to…find the counter.”

“Jesus, Sam.” Dean shook his head and got him moving again as Sam wheezed air in and out like he’d run a marathon. Dean pulled him toward the hall leading to their bedrooms and snarled when Sam dug his feet in.

“No…no. The library.” Sam got his head up enough to meet his brother’s eyes. “You don’t know…know the books like I do. Please, Dean. I’ll find it f...faster.”

“Dammit.” Dean rolled his eyes but turned and dragged his brother to the library and up the few stairs. Sam was right. He’d been through half the books already, and he’d have a better chance of finding what they needed. He eased Sam down into one of the chairs and pulled another over, picking his legs up carefully and putting them up. “Just stay there and tell me what you need.” He pushed Sam’s ridiculously long, sweat-soaked hair off his forehead to get a better look at his face and didn’t like what he saw; There was little color left in his face, his eyes were shadowed, and Dean couldn’t help but be reminded of how Sam had looked in the asylum, when the hallucinations had kept him from sleeping for days on end, to the point that he would not survive that way much longer. The glassy eyes blinking slowly up at him did nothing to allay his growing fear.

Sam rattled off a few books and tried to find a way to sit that didn’t make it feel like the blade was digging deeper into him. “Thanks,” he managed as Dean brought him the first of the books.

Dean spent the next hour fetching books and trying to get his brother to drink the damn orange juice he brought him. The kid was translucent, sweaty, and maybe two steps from just putting his head back and passing out. The pile of books beside him had grown over the hour as Sam followed a trail only he could see from one piece of information to another, from book to book, each getting progressively older and harder to read than the last and had Sam muttering in Latin as he squinted at the time-worn pages.

“Dean.”

Sam’s weak voice pulled him from the bookshelf at a run to kneel beside the chair. “Right here, Sammy.” Dean took his shoulder. “What do you need?”

“R…read.” Sam pushed the book in his lap toward Dean wearily.

“Is this it?” Dean took the book and looked at the Latin incantation on the brown, crumbling page. “Sam?” He looked up and groaned as Sam’s head rolled to the side limply. “Shit. Sammy?” He wrapped his other hand around the side of his brother’s neck and felt his heart racing there. He’d just passed out…finally. “Ok, buddy.” He looked back down at the book and then to the athame. “I can do this.”

Dean’s Latin wasn’t as rusty as it had been, thanks to his brother routinely irritating him for months since they found the bunker, reading things out to him and smiling the whole time. When Dean had threatened to gag him, Sam had reminded him that he’d heard Dean mangle a few words in an exorcism the week before and so…Dean let him drive him crazy with the damn Latin.

“This better be the right spell, Sam,” Dean said softly. He propped the book on Sam’s leg and wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the hilt of the athame. “Cum sanguineet potestatemvocote.” Dean felt the handle warm under his hand. “Potentiam tuamconsumpta, hoc corpus, licencia.” He spoke the rest of the incantation as quickly as he dared, making sure not to stumble over any of the words and blinked in surprise when the handle of the athame flashed brightly under his hand. Dean took a deep breath, swallowing his fear, and pulled.

The double-edged blade slid out and Dean braced a hand on Sam’s chest over the wound as he tossed the blade aside with a clatter. “Sammy?” Dean tipped his head back, relieved beyond words to see him still breathing. “Come on, buddy. Sam.” Dean smiled in relief when Sam’s eyes fluttered open.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, exhausted, and groaned at the pain in his stomach.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. You’re good. It’s out.” Dean let go of his brother long enough to pull his flannel off and fold it. He pressed it against the wound and wrapped his other arm around Sam’s shoulders. “We get this cleaned up now?”

Sam nodded once, sat up with Dean’s help, and let his head fall forward onto his shoulder. “Can’t.”

“It’s alright. I got this.” Dean pulled his brother’s legs to the floor and stood, taking Sam with him as gently as he could. Even so, Sam was gasping and fisted a hand in Dean’s t-shirt. “Easy, Sammy.”

“Don’t you…dare c-carry me.” Sam managed a reasonable approximation of a glare up at his big brother, and Dean laughed. “S’not funny.”

“Yeah, it is.” Dean snorted as he guided Sam out into the hall and to his room. He got Sam onto his bed and laid out as comfortably as he was going to get with a hole in his side. “Here, hold this.” Dean put one of his hands over the makeshift bandage of his flannel and dashed from the room for the first aid kit. He was back in less than a minute and relieved to see Sam’s half-lidded eyes still open and following him as he came in and sat next to him on the bed.

“S’gonna suck.” Sam rolled his head while Dean shrugged and used the scissors from the kit to cut Sam’s shirt open so he could see the actual wound.

Dean chuckled. “Probably.” He narrowed his eyes at the damn hole in his little brother and wanted very much to kill that warlock son of a bitch all over again.

Sam clamped a hand into Dean’s forearm when he poured peroxide into the wound and gritted his teeth, somehow managing not to let the whimper escape. “Fuck,” He breathed instead once Dean was finished. He let Dean pry his fingers loose and let his arm drop to the bed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Always wanted a handprint there.” Dean smirked at Sam’s weak chuckle and set about quickly closing the wound and taping a bandage in place.

Sam curled around the ache in his stomach toward his brother, not even completely conscious of needing that instinctive comfort, but with the injury, blood loss, the trials and what he was terrified they were doing to him…he was asleep without ever realizing he’d bumped his forehead into his big brother’s knee in a childhood plea for comfort.

Dean put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head sadly. With Sam’s head planted against his knee, Dean suddenly felt like they were kids again, Sam instinctively needing the comfort only his big brother could provide and trusting him to simply make everything right with the world. He wished he could do that now, wave a hand and have the trials gone, demons, angels…all of it.

“I’ve got you, Sammy,” Dean whispered and stayed where he was. There were a dozen different things he could go do that didn’t involve letting his little brother snuggle his leg. Dean smirked. Not a one of them seemed more important just then. “I gotcha.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	22. For LotRia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For LotRia - I'm always up for some kidnapped/hurt Sam and protective/big brother Dean to the rescue. And I have an itch for a serial killer mystery!! I love the intense last minute rescue followed by the brotherly concern/bonding (like in "Hunger in the Dark"). I've also been grieving for Bobby since last season, so it would be nice if you could squeeze in a little part for him. Use any side characters or villains you'd like. Can be a supernatural or human threat – something already featured or an original monster... I'm not too picky, but please skip the demons; they've had enough screen time Oh, could you really? PLEASE be dark and twisted? Really push the limits here. Automatic rule -- if its gives my stomach butterflies at any point, its a favorite.
> 
> A/N: LotRia gave me permission to be as dark and twisted as my little dark and twisted heart desires. I lurv her. I really, really do. :P Set in early season 7 should be good. Lots of room for some tortuous Sammy fun. Heh heh heh heh  
> Some graphic depictions of torture in here kids. Don’t like it, don’t read it. You are warned. :D

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean groaned and tried to swallow the foul taste out of his mouth. It didn’t work; whatever it was was stuffed in his mouth and he scowled in confusion as consciousness crept back into his still-fuzzy brain. The last thing he remembered was…coming out of the bar, tossing the keys to Sam...did he hear Sam shout something? Dean blinked and got his eyes open, and that’s when it struck him; he was tied into a chair with his head hanging down his chest. He groaned again. With the exception of that one time with the kinky chick in Wichita, waking up tied up was NEVER a good thing, especially when your name was Winchester. He pulled at his bonds to no use and tried to spit out the wad of fabric gagging him. It stayed stubbornly put and he pulled his head slowly up, taking in his surroundings.

The sight that greeted him chilled him down to his soul. Sam hung limply by his wrists from a chain running up to the ceiling not ten feet away, feet barely brushing the floor of what looked like an empty warehouse, and his long hair hid his face. A chain wound out from Sam’s ankles above his bare feet and looped through a ring in the cement floor and then there was the blood on his shirt. Dean tried to choke back the fear and anger that swept over him seeing his little brother like that, and growled Sam’s name around the gag, straining in the chair, struggling against his bonds.

“He’s a little unconscious at the moment.”

The voice came from behind him, and Dean tried to turn his head to see who had spoken as white hot rage swept through him. The man strolled out in front of him and knelt to look up at him. He was tall, strongly built, in a white, button-down shirt spotted with blood, and Dean knew with absolute certainty it belonged to his brother. He glared death at the man who only smiled at him.

“I enjoy having an audience for my work.” He reached out and tested the ropes binding Dean to the chair, ignoring the muffled stream of curses being hurled at him from behind the gag. He smiled sheepishly at Dean. “I got a little…excited.” He held out his shirt and shook his head. “I just wanted to hear him scream.”

Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach as he looked over the man’s shoulder to his brother and suffered for him.

“Now that you’re awake, we can really have some fun.” He grinned with a maniacal light in his eyes that made Dean shiver. “You can call me Bill.” He brushed his fingers down the side of Dean’s face, smiling more widely when he snarled and jerked his head away. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Dean pulled desperately at the ropes binding him, but Bill had done his work well. The ropes secured his wrists, ankles and across his chest. It didn’t stop him trying to loosen them as the sick bastard went to Sam and bent to peer up into his face. Dean growled angrily as Bill pulled a little metal, rolling table over and took a syringe from it, tapping it lightly. Dean was momentarily unable to tear his eyes away from the collection of other implements he saw on the table, but began struggling again as Bill reached up to inject whatever was in the syringe into his brother.

“This is a stimulant.” Bill smiled over his shoulder at Dean, sounding like he was lecturing in front of a class. “My own cocktail. It does a fair job of keeping my subjects from losing consciousness while I’m working.” He set the needle aside and waited as Sam’s body jerked weakly in his chains.

Dean tried to think where this hunt had gone so far wrong. They had come to town looking for whatever was slicing people up, opening them a vein at a time and bleeding them out. Sam had realized, after getting a good look at the bodies and autopsy reports, that the monster was human, a serial killer with a flair for torturing his victims, and they had backed off. It was the cops’ job to catch human killers; not theirs. Dean tried to think how they could have come up on the killer’s radar. They hadn’t even spoken to any of the victims’ families. They had only visited the police station and the morgue. Dean stared hard at Bill’s profile and realized that he looked somehow familiar…he’d seen him before.

“Here he comes. Time to wake up.” Bill took Sam’s face in his hands and picked his head up, brushing the hair out of the man’s eyes and chuckling when he heard Dean’s muffled, rage-filled growls behind him. “Your friend is awake now.” Bill shifted so Sam could see his brotheras his eyes fluttered open and smiled, watching his hazel eyes go wide seeing Dean bound and gagged in the chair. His own discomfort had yet to fully register in his still-foggy brain, but he did remember pain…and screaming…before apparently passing out again.

“Wha…why are you…doing this?” Sam asked and kept his eyes locked on Dean’s, trying very hard to keep the fear off his face at seeing his big brother so effectively bound. They were in deep shit.

Bill shook his head and pursed his lips. “Everyone asks that.” He patted a hand against Sam’s chest and went to his table, perusing the various instruments there. “Now, where were we?”

Sam gave Dean a small nod to say he was alright and easily read the disbelief on Dean’s face. He shook his head slightly when Dean raised a brow, silently asking how they had been captured. Sam didn’t think Bill would sit idly back while he explained that Dean had been knocked out from behind and the bleeding cut on his throat that Dean must not have felt yet was from the knife Bill had held there to force Sam to lay down his weapon and cuff himself. He knew what Dean would say -- that he should have taken the shot. Sam dropped his eyes because there was no way he would ever risk trading Dean’s life for his own. He only hoped Bobby had heard something, enough to track them, as Sam had been on the phone with him when Bill attacked.

The pain in Sam’s wrists, arms, and shoulders from supporting his full weight for however long he had been out began to make itself known, and he tried to get his feet under him to relieve some of the pressure, but even then, could only touch on tiptoe as his legs strained to take some of his weight.

He didn’t have long to worry about that as their captor turned back toward him.Sam flinched back from the bright, steel scalpel Bill held up in his line of sight. “Don’t.”

Bill smiled and slid the blade into the neck of Sam’s bloodied t-shirt. “Try not to move too much.”

Dean choked on his rage while Bill cut Sam’s shirts off him, tossing the pieces carelessly aside until he was finished and stood back as if to admire his little brother. He growled out his need to kill when Bill ran admiring fingers up Sam’s chest and over the taut, straining muscles of his shoulders.

“My, my. I do appreciate someone who takes care of themselves.” Bill grinned up at Sam. “They last longer. You’re going to last a long time.” He stabbed the scalpel into Sam’s side without warning, chuckling at his cry of pain and withdrew it to watch the blood flow from the small hole, seemingly fascinated by the sight. He looked over at Dean as he screamed around his gag. “Did you want to say something?”

Dean stared daggers at Bill as the man came over and carelessly slid the scalpel through the strip of cloth holding the gag in place, slicing Dean’s cheek open in the process, the pain barely registering in Dean’s brain that was totally focused on wanting to rip the man in front of him to shreds. He spat the ball of cloth from his mouth into his lap. “Leave him alone you son of a bitch!” Dean screamed it at him and Bill simply threw his head back and laughed.

“Now, now, Dean.” Bill patted his shoulder when Dean jerked in surprise. “Oh, he called your name a few times when I took you.” He gestured to Sam. “He was hoping you would wake up, I think. Tell me,” he knelt in front of Dean again and ran a finger through the blood on his face, digging the tip of his finger into the shallow slice on Dean’s cheek until he winced, “what’s his name?”

“Go to hell!” Dean growled angrily and grunted in pain when Bill stabbed the scalpel into the meat of his thigh.

“Sam! My name’s Sam! Leave him alone!” Sam yelled, unable to watch Dean being tortured over something so meaningless. “Please!”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Bill stood and left the scalpel standing out of Dean’s thigh. “But _you_ were supposed to answer me, Dean.” He stared clinically at the bound man before him for a moment and then, without even changing expression, his hand came up in a vicious backhand blow that snapped Dean’s head back and had his vision blurring out at the edges for a moment. Somewhere in the background he heard Sam shouting in anger. The pain of Bill giving the scalpel an experimental tug and then another shove back into place as if to check to make sure it was securely in place brought him back to the moment.

Dean breathed heavily, trying to get the pain under control and not look at the blade still sticking in him; it made it hurt worse. He looked up to his brother instead as Bill went back to his little table. “Hey, Sam?” Dean managed a small smile. “Think we’re gonna pick a different bar next time.”

Sam stared at him and then huffed out a laugh softly in spite of the situation. “You…you picked it.” He jerked back as Bill came to stand in front of him again and held up another scalpel. He had several more in his other hand. Sam knew on a clinical level what had been done to this man’s previous victims, but seeing the aftermath and experiencing it in person were two very different things. His only consolation was that they had all died slowly. Hopefully, Bobby would have time to find them, at least before the psychopath got to Dean if nothing else.

Bill placed the blade of the scalpel at the base of Sam’s throat, in the hollow. “Do try not to move too much. This is very precise work.”

Sam shuddered as the blade of the scalpel bit into him and put his head back, gritting his teeth in an effort not to move or cry out as Bill dragged the blade down his torso leaving a path of fiery pain in its wake. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop the shout or flinch when the scalpel reached his stomach and dropped his head, heaving for air as Bill pulled the blade away.

“Sam?” Dean called and jerked at the ropes as drops of his brother’s blood began to hit the floor beneath him with little wet splats. “Sam!” His helplessness at being force to watch what was being done to the little brother he had practically raised and loved more than life itself without being able to help him or stop it was tearing at his very soul in a way a hundred scalpels would never be able to do.

“M’alright,” Sam gasped in response to the fear in Dean’s voice.

“See, Dean? He’s fine.” Bill waved a hand magnanimously and then turned to slide the scalpel’s short blade into Sam’s chest between two of his ribs.

“Fuck!” Sam yelled. He hadn’t expected it and had to fight to suppress the urge to throw up when Bill stepped back and left it stuck in his chest, quivering with each heaving breath he took.

“The more you move, the more it hurts,” Bill informed him cheerfully and showed him another scalpel. “We have quite a few of these to go through. They’re not long enough to damage internal organs, but it doesn’t matter because all the veins and pain receptors in your skin are right near the surface. You can do SO much with these without ever damaging anything vital. If you know what you’re doing, the fun can last for hours.” His eyes took on a dreamy sort of look as he ran a finger lightly across the fresh blood. “Or even days.”

“M’gonna…” Sam raised his head and met Bill’s crazed eyes. “Gonna enjoy…when Dea…Dean kills you.”

“Damn straight, Sammy,” Dean agreed fervently, inwardly cheering at Sam’s bravado. His wrists were slick with his own blood from trying to loosen the ropes and he knew he had rope burn across his chest, even through his shirts, as he fought the restraints in a desperate need to get to Sam.

“Oh, I love this part.” Bill moved around behind Sam and bent to peer playfully around his side at Dean. “When my toys still think there’s hope.”

“We’re not…not toys.” Sam watched Dean’s face for some sign what the man was doing behind him. He choked on a cry as he felt a new blade slice down the left side of his back and warm blood began to flow; making his skin itch.

“You’re all toys.” Bill picked a spot below Sam’s shoulder blade and shoved the scalpel in, letting it rest against the underside of the bone where he knew it would cause the most pain and moved back in front of him. He held up yet another scalpel with a grin. “And we’ve only just started to play.”

Dean was hoarse with yelling. The torture had gone on for what seemed like forever, and, as much as Sam had tried not to give in, the screams of pain had finally come. The last several hours of listening to his brother crying out and seeing what that sick son of a bitch was doing to him was tearing Dean’s soul to shreds. His wrists were raw, burger meat and he was still no closer to being free. Bill studiously left him alone except for the one blade in his thigh, which barely registered beyond a dull burning in the background of his mind, as every fiber of his being was focused on Sam.Dean really did seem to be his audience, as important to the nutball’s delusion as was Sam’s blood and pain.

Sam had gone quiet and shuddered where he hung. Blood glistened in small pools beneath him; ran red and dark down his chest and arms. Dean had lost track of how many scalpels now stood out from his body. There had to be at least twenty; they pierced his chest and his arms. There were a few in his legs and Dean knew even more decorated his back. Bill was turning him into a pin-cushion. Dean watched Bill pouring bottled water down his arms and washing Sam’s blood off in sickening sloshes of pink-tinged water.

For a long time, Dean had been able to at least lock gazes with Sam, offering what strength he could just by being there for him, but Sam had finally sagged against the chains binding his wrists, his head falling to his chest as his strength finally began to give out.“Sammy, you hold on. You hear me? Sam?” Dean begged his brother. He managed a smile when Sam’s head came haltingly up to look at him under a sweat-laden curtain of hair.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was barely more than a whisper. His shoulders burned having his arms pulled above him for so long and supporting his weight. The numerous scalpels embedded in his body were a symphony of searing pain, but he could handle it all -- the blades, the blood, the growing number of cuts in his skin that he could feel Bill making deeper and deeper. He had survived so much worse than this in the Cage. He could take it, but…he was no longer alone with his brother and the murderer. “He’s…he’s here,” Sam whispered it in a broken voice as he stared into his brother’s eyes, and, behind him, grinning and clapping, stood the devil.

“Sammy?” Dean looked between Sam and Bill and back to his brother, and then realization dawned. It hit him like a physical punch. Sam was tripping Lucifer again. “No. No, Sam. Look at me.” He waited for Sam’s eyes to come back up to his and Dean nodded firmly. “Stone number one, kiddo. You hold on to that.” He wanted to say more, needed to say more to reassure his little brother, but Bill was now watching interestedly and there was no way in hell Dean was giving the madman another way to hurt his brother.

“I never left, Sam,” Bill stepped into his line of sight and took the man’s face in his hands to pick his head up again. “Sammy.”

“You don’t get to call him that!” Dean shouted as Sam flinched in Bill’s grip. “He’s done, man. He’s done! Use me!” Dean jerked in the chair, rattling the legs on the floor as Bill turned to look at him. “Fresh meat, jackass! Isn’t that what you want?” He would suffer anything if it meant getting Sam out of the damn chains.

“I’m not done with him yet.” Bill said quietly as the fierce, crazy smile that Dean had come to fear lit his face and eyes. “He’s not finished yet.”

“No. No!” Dean yelled as Bill slid yet another scalpel into Sam, this time near his collar bone. “Son of a bitch!”

Sam’s cry of pain was more of a choked whimper at the fresh burn. Every twitch of his body sent agony shuddering through him as the multiple blades brushed, bumped and scratched against his ribs, his shoulder blades, his femurs. He didn’t care. Lucifer was running his fingers through the fresh and congealing blood on his chest, licking them with glee while he chuckled.

“Now this is entertainment, isn’t it, Sammy?” Lucifer did a little dance, politely stepping aside so Bill could add another long slice up Sam’s arm. “Admit it, bunk buddy. You miss me.”

“N-no,” Sam gasped. “Not..not r…real.”

“I’m in your noggin’, kiddo.” Lucifer reached up to tap a blood-slick finger at Sam’s temple. “I’m as real as it gets.”

“Sam!” Dean’s shout brought Sam’s head up again, meeting his brother’s agonized gaze. “Focus on me. On me, Sammy! Look at me! That’s it.” Dean strained and pulled, working to free his right hand but kept his eyes firmly locked on the tormented hazel of Sam’s. He was slipping away while Dean watched and it was killing him.

Bill stepped in front of Sam, blocking his view of his brother and cupped the side of his head almost gently, tipping it back. “Now, Sam. This is very important. This one is very tricky. Don’t move.” He placed the blade of a scalpel high on the side of Sam’s throat near the corner of his jaw. “We wouldn’t want to nick an artery and lose you too soon.”

Sam shivered staring at his hands above him and the silver handles of scalpels quivering in his arms. He flinched silently at the bite of the blade and closed his eyes as it slid down his neck and he felt his blood welling to flow down his chest.

Dean watched in horror as Bill pulled the blade carefully, opening the side of Sam’s throat with an expert hand, knowing he was only millimeters from the carotid artery. This was his art, his love. To have the skill to cause so much damage and still preserve life…it was a gift, and he took his art seriously. He smoothed his thumb along Sam’s jaw affectionately. He cared for his toys, he really did, yet they never seemed to understand.

“Good, Sam. Very good,” Bill said in a soothing voice as he pulled the blade away at the curve of his shoulder. He moved, still holding Sam’s head, and pressed the blade to the other side of his throat.

Sam considered moving. One flinch was all it would take, he knew, as the blade cut down his neck again. One jerk in the wrong direction and the scalpel would slice through the artery and he’d be free of this -- free of the all-consuming pain and free of Lucifer’s taunting laughter -- but he heard Dean’s voice. His brother called to him, offering the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone, even if that was all he had to offer, and he could just see Dean from the corner of his eye. If he flinched, Dean would be alone with Bill, and he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t leave his big brother to this madman’s mercy. If by staying alive he could keep Dean from having to go through this for even a little longer, then he would hold on until the last drop of blood ran from his body.

“God, stop! Please!” Dean could almost feel every wound. Watching Sam suffer was its own torment. He knew like no one else could what his brother had survived and what he was reliving with every fresh wound. He watched Bill step back and Sam’s head dropped forward with a soft sob. “Sammy.” His own voice was barely more than a choked whisper.

Bill picked up another scalpel and smiled at Sam. “You’ve been so much fun, Sam. I want you to know that.” He pressed the tip of the blade into the hollow at the base of Sam’s throat until a drop of blood welled up. “This is usually the part where my toys leave me. They just can’t stay still.”

“Don’…please.” Sam couldn’t even get his head up. He slitted his eyes open enough to see Bill’s hand and the scalpel moving in again and sucked in a breath as it pressed into his throat.

Dean pulled on his right arm with a growl of effort. Sam was out of time. He’d torn his wrist up enough that a small pool of blood had formed under the arm of the chair. He twisted his hand, gritted his teeth, and swallowed the shout of pain as his hand finally slid free of the rope in a rush. Dean swallowed and took hold of the scalpel in his thigh. He jerked it out, ignoring the fresh welling of blood and sliced the rope holding his chest. He freed his arms and his feet while Sam began to cough in distress and then stood silently from the chair.

Bill let go of the scalpel’s handle, watching as it wavered in the hollow of Sam’s throat and smiled. “Try not to cough too hard, Sam,” He warned as the man began to cough with the intrusion of the instrument. He studied his handiwork with pride and stepped back for a better look. Bill frowned, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and had the overwhelming feeling that something had changed. He had been a predator for far too long to ignore such warnings. Bill spun, bringing up his remaining scalpel and gasped to find Dean at his back.

Dean snarled a curse as Bill’s movement saved his life and the scalpel went into his shoulder instead of his heart. “Son of a bitch!” He shouted when Bill sliced across his bicep with his own scalpel. He knew he needed to keep him away from his brother and Dean grabbed the man’s arms and threw himself to the side, taking Bill to the floor with him. He wasn’t expecting the ferocity of blows Bill rained down on him and saw stars as his head was slammed into the cement floor.

“Don’t…ruin…my fun!” Bill punctuated each shout with a crack of Dean’s head into the floor. He sat back and pulled the scalpel Dean had left in his arm free and brought it up. “I’m afraid I won’t be needing an audience anymore today, Dean.”

“NO!” Sam shouted hoarsely as Bill raised the scalpel over his groaning brother. The blade in his throat made him choke for it. Sam jerked in shock when a gunshot echoed in the warehouse, and Bill looked down at the blood suddenly pooling over his heart with surprise.

Dean shook his head, trying to clear his vision and watched Bill topple off of him to the floor, staring over at him with dead eyes. “What?”

“Dean!” Bobby jogged across the floor and had to stop and take a moment to let his mind adjust to what he was seeing when he looked at Sam. “Oh, my God.” His voice was barely more than a whisper and he stared in shock at his young friend.

“Bobby.” Dean gasped it and felt tears of relief press behind his eyes. “Get…get me up.” Bobby shook off the shock that had momentarily paralyzed him and turned his attention to Dean, who took the arm Bobby held down to him and stood shakily. “How’d you find us?”

“I was on the phone with Sam and heard you two get taken down.” Bobby put his gun up and scrubbed a hand over his face, looking at Sam. “Been a while since I had to track an honest to goodness serial killer or I’d have been here sooner. God, Dean…” He waved a hand at Sam.

“I know.” Dean went to Sam and carefully took hold of the handle of the scalpel in the base of his throat. “Stay still, Sammy.” He held his breath and slid it out, then threw it aside. “Sammy?” He took his brother’s face in his hands and picked up his head so he could see him.

“Dean,” Sam could only whisper it and let unashamed tears roll down his face as he moved his eyes and found their adoptive father. “B…Bobby.”

“Hey, son,” Bobby said softly and put a hand on Sam’s head; about the only place he could see to touch that didn’t have a damn knife standing out of it. “We’re gonna get you outta here.” His heart broke as he looked at the youngest Winchester. He was red with his own blood. Only his face seemed untouched and that was the pale white of blood loss with deep shadows beneath his heavily-lidded eyes.

Sam coughed and spat blood out of his throat weakly, rolling his head into Dean’s hand. “Get…ge’me down.”

“Easy, buddy. I…” Dean rubbed his free hand over his face and swallowed hard. “Sam, we gotta take these out first, alright? You stay still for us while we do that?” He smiled sadly when Sam nodded into his hand and closed his eyes. “Ok. Bobby?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Bobby moved around Sam and choked on fury at the sight of his back. “I’ll get his back.”

Dean decided to start at the top and stretched to reach the highest of the scalpels in Sam’s arms. He slid it free, having to swallow hard not to throw up when Sam’s body seemed to hold on to it with the blood dried and congealed in the wound. Fresh blood welled to flow down his arm as Dean tossed it aside with a clatter. Sam whimpered with the new pain and Dean cupped his face in his hands to offer him what little comfort he could as he felt Sam jerk when Bobby tugged one free from his back.

“Take it easy, Sammy. We’re right here.” Dean said softly and smiled for him. He studied his brother’s pain-glazed eyes. “He still here?”

Sam’s eyes skittered away from Dean’s and around the warehouse and then back with a small sob of relief. He shook his head. “Gone…he’s g-gone.”

“Good. You just stay with me, alright?” Dean slipped a hand to the back of Sam’s neck in his age-old gesture of comfort and squeezed. “Have you down in no time, little brother. You can do this.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I can.”

Dean’s throat closed with emotion and he nodded before letting Sam’s head gently down. He reached back up and started taking out scalpel after scalpel. Occasionally, he would meet Bobby’s eyes and see the same rage and pain reflected there, and Dean wished Bill hadn’t died so easily. Dean removed the last scalpel, pulling it from Sam’s thigh and grimaced as he felt it tug free of bone. Sam was shuddering with pain and exhaustion, unable to control it.

“I’ll get the chain. You get hold of him.” Bobby followed the chain across the ceiling to where it was tied on the wall opposite and started unwinding it, surreptitiously wiping tears from his face and cursing himself for taking too damn long to find his boys.

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean took a breath and slid an arm around Sam’s torso. He knew he was causing him pain, but there was no help for it. There was nowhere to touch his brother that wouldn’t hurt him. “Coming down now.” Dean held him, easing his other arm around him as Sam began to lower and the chains went lax. Dean grunted with the effort of holding up his boneless brother. “Bobby. Feet.”

“Comin’.” Bobby ran back and dropped to Sam’s feet; trying not to think too hard about the fact he was kneeling in the boy’s blood as he worked at the chains.

Sam cried out in fresh agony as his arms dropped over Dean’s head. They had been suspended above him for so long the movement sent fire along his nerves and muscles that made his head swim.

Dean closed his eyes and held Sam against him while Bobby worked on his feet. “Easy, Sammy. I’ve got you. Breathe, buddy. Just breathe through it.”

Bobby had to blink furiously to see through watery eyes. Sam’s ankles were raw and bloody from the rough chain. He pulled the last loop away and it broke something inside him having so much of Sam’s blood on his hands. He stood and went behind Dean, taking careful hold of Sam’s hands. Bobby glanced up as he worked at freeing them from the chains and found Sam watching him with tear-filled eyes.

“Knew…you’d f-find us,” Sam said softly and let the gratitude show in his eyes.

Bobby coughed, swallowed and dropped his eyes back to the chains as he reached a hand out and curved it over the back of Sam’s shaggy, sweat-drenched head. “’could find you two idjits in my sleep. This was nothin’.”

Dean chuckled softly as Sam dropped his head into the curve of his shoulder. He held him more firmly and didn’t comment when he felt Sam’s shoulders shaking with quiet sobs; the kid had earned a breakdown or three. “You’re alright, Sammy.”

“Ok.” Bobby pulled the last loop of chain free from Sam’s wrists and threw it away with a growl of disgust. “My truck’s just outside. Gonna be a tight fit. How we gonna do this?” He asked as he looked at the legion of bleeding wounds and didn’t know where to begin touching the kid.

“How are your shoulders, Sam?” Dean asked softly, turning his face into Sam’s shaggy hair and got a shake of his head in answer. Dean sighed. “Get his feet I think. We’ll carry him out. Don’t wanna hurt his shoulders more.”

Bobby nodded and bent, wrapping his arms gently around Sam’s calves. The blood-soaked denim of his jeans made Bobby want to throw up again. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Sam had suffered. He glanced at Dean’s blood-streaked, pain-lined face and sighed; what they had both suffered. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” Dean shouldered most of his brother’s weight while Bobby led with his feet. He kept Sam curled into his chest, trying not to let the arm dangling limply down his side frighten him. He could feel Sam’s warm breath in his neck. He was alive. They passed Bill’s lifeless body and Dean almost stopped in surprise. “I’ll be damned.”

“What?” Bobby glanced back, looking at Sam first and expected some new horror.

“I knew he looked familiar.” Dean tightened his grip on his brother and nodded at Bobby to keep moving. “He was the coroner’s assistant. Son of a bitch must have heard us asking about the case.”

“Which put you on crazy-train’s radar. Damn.” Bobby shook his head and kicked open the door to the warehouse. “This ain’t your fault, Dean.” He said, hoping to preempt whatever guilt Dean was going to decide to carry around about this.

Dean nodded and took all of Sam’s weight back as Bobby opened the door of the truck. “We’ll agree to disagree on that one, Bobby.” He felt a cut burning on his throat that he didn’t remember receiving and it was easy enough to figure out how Bill had gotten Sam to cooperate. If Dean had been paying better attention, that bastard wouldn’t have gotten the drop on him and been able to use him as leverage. Sam saved his life by handing himself over.

All the way back to the motel, Dean cursed the leviathans. There was no way they could trust a hospital, however much Sam might need it; not if it meant his little brother could end up on the damn menu. Dean was shaking with emotion by the time they had Sam laid out on his bed. He had held Sam all the way back, needing the contact to reassure himself that Sam was alive.

“You still got that transfusion set-up in your truck?” Dean asked as he sat beside his brother and agonized over the need to clean and bandage all the wounds. There were so many and they were going to have to hurt him all over again. “He’s lost way too much.”

“Yeah. Get on his other side.” Bobby pointed to the other side of the bed along the wall. “You’re gonna be donatin’, you’re gonna wanna be comfortable.”

Dean groaned and climbed carefully over his brother. “Don’t go all chick-flick on me ‘cause we are not cuddling, little brother.”

Sam gave him a weak, watery laugh and wisely didn’t mention how comforting it was to have the heat of Dean’s body along his side, his presence there next to him like when they were kids to keep the monsters away. He closed his eyes, his breath hitching as the last few hours caught up with him. “Sorry…sorry.”

“Don’t, Sam.” Dean sat up against the headboard and pulled Sam half into his lap, resting his head on his chest and grimaced at the feel of blood soaking into his shirt. “You got nothing to be sorry for, kiddo.”

Bobby came back into the room and couldn’t quite suppress the small smile at seeing them. For a second, all he saw were two gangly kids; not the young men he’d helped raise. He swallowed the emotion back and went about setting up the transfusion rig. It took an immense effort of self-control on his part to not just break as he and Dean cleaned the myriad wounds. Sam was in so much obvious pain, neither man could make the jokes they normally would have as they got the kid’s jeans off to get at the wounds on his legs. Instead, they went out about it as quietly as possible, speaking only to guide each other or reassure Sam. Bobby had spent a rough moment blinking furiously against tears when he’d realized Sam had a death-grip on his knee, anchoring himself while they worked. The complete trust in his eyes as he looked up at Bobby, given the state he was in, was humbling.

Dean leaned against the headboard with Sam resting against his chest finally and floating on painkillers. He was a little light-headed himself and shifted only slightly; wary of knocking the line in his arm loose. It was feeding much-needed blood to Sam. Bobby had dressed his wrists, neck and face for him and made a few awkward faces at having to cut open the thigh of Dean’s jeans to get at the stab wound there.

“I’m gonna get some supplies.” Bobby said as he patted the dressing on Dean’s bicep in place. “We’re gonna be here awhile.”

“Bobby, you don’t have to…”

“Shut it, son.” Bobby cut Dean off with a smile to take the sting out of it. “You got more important things to worry about. Keep him still. I’ll unhook ya’ when I get back.”

“Bobby…thanks,” Dean said and nodded to the older Hunter.

Bobby shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Don’t go all girly on me.” He said gruffly and left the motel room with Dean’s soft laughter following him out.

Dean put a hand over Sam’s forehead to steady him as he rolled his head restlessly. “Easy, Sammy. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

Sam nodded with his eyes closed, half-asleep between the painkillers and blood loss. “Got me out,” He said softly. “I know.”

Dean’s breath stuttered in his chest and he nodded, smiling tightly. “That’s right, Sammy. We got you out.” He moved his arm more securely across Sam’s chest in a fierce need to protect him. “Every damn time, Sam. Every time.”

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_The End._


	23. For Janebear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Janebear - I would like a story from season 2 right after in my time of dying and before  
> everybody loves a clown. Would love to explore sam's view of what he was going through after losing his father and having to take care of everyone while hiding a very critical injury from the car accident. You can of course of dean's injuries in there too. I have always loved this season and this episodes but so would have loved to see some of Sam's way of dealing with of all the emotional stress too.
> 
> A/N: Between 2x01 and 2x02 with hurt and sucking it up, angsty Sammy. I hope this is what you wanted, or at least close to it. Lol

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Sam sat on the hood of one of the junkers in Bobby’s yard and stared out at the lightening sky. He wasn’t sure where Dean was at that moment; probably inside with a bottle of whiskey, he figured. It didn’t sound like such a bad idea just then. Numbing his brain for a while might be a good thing. He could still hear the words they’d said to each other ringing in his ears, and Sam wasn’t sure how he was ever going to forgive himself.

He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. He wouldn’t mind some whiskey to dull the pain he was in either. Sam only had a vague memory of the injuries the doctor had rattled off to him before he’d signed himself out against medical advice. His family needed him, and that had been more important than some bumps and bruises.

“Sam?” Bobby called as he rounded the row of cars and frowned, seeing the youngest Winchester hunched as he was.

“Yeah, Bobby?” Sam slid carefully off the hood of the car and masked his stagger, leaning on it instead.

“You, uh…you comin’ in?” Bobby didn’t know what to say to either of his boys. The loss of their dad this way…it had crushed them. It had certainly broken something inside of Dean. Not that he’d ever been much of the caring and sharing type, but the only thing he seemed capable of giving anyone right now was his temper. Sam, though…Bobby sighed and watched the kid straighten and walk over to him. Sam had always been the one to try and work things out, talk about things, but even he seemed to have shut down, and the rift between him and his brother was making Bobby hurt just looking at them.

“Didn’t mean to worry you,” Sam said as he went past and toward the house. He could see the concern in the older Hunter’s eyes, but Sam had no idea what to say to him. He was grateful when Bobby let him go without a word. He slipped into the house and upstairs as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb Dean if he was still awake somewhere. He just couldn’t bear another confrontation right now. He pushed open the door to his room and sighed, closing it behind him. He wondered how pathetic Dean would think he was if he told him that he missed having his big brother in the same room at night.

“Pretty damn pathetic, Sam,” he told himself and sat slowly on the edge of his bed. He bent over to take off his shoes and gasped as the ache in his back magnified. “Shit!” He leaned back up quickly and started wheezing for breath as the pain moved from his back, around his side, and tightened his chest. Sam gave up on his shoes and lay back on the bed. He stared at the ceiling and tried to get his breathing under control around the pain. He couldn’t decide what hurt more -- his ribs, his back, the burning from wrenched muscle in his left shoulder or the damn headache that refused to go away since he’d woken up. Finally, exhaustion pulled him slowly under to sleep past the pain.

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Sam leaned over into the freezer and grabbed the bag of frost-burned peas. He was pretty sure they’d been in there for over a year and served a purpose other than food. He grimaced, pressing the frozen bag to his left shoulder and hoped the cold would soothe the ache.

“Not much in there but ice, Sam.” Bobby said and frowned at Sam’s back as he jumped.

Sam shoved the peas back into the freezer and closed the door. “Uh, yeah. Need to go shopping or something.” He turned and gave a wan smile to Bobby. “Where’s Dean?”

“Out starin’ at the car, I think.” Bobby shrugged and kept an eye on Sam, noting the stiff way he walked toward the door. “Sam, you alright?” The wreck had been barely two days ago. Dean’s miraculous recovery he got; something supernatural had intervened, and he knew what Dean thought had happened. Sam on the other hand…

“Yeah, Bobby. I’m good.” Sam opened the back door. “I’m gonna check on him.” He was still worried about Dean in spite of his mystical recovery. He couldn’t get past the fact that Dad had seemed fine before…Sam’s breath hitched and he stopped, covering his face with one hand and ruthlessly pulled back the tears. He couldn’t afford to fall apart. Dean still needed him to keep it together whether he realized it or not.

Sam rounded the corner absently rubbing his left hand over the right side of his chest; the pain wouldn’t leave. He found Dean sitting on a barrel and staring at the twisted wreck of the Impala. “Dean.”

Dean gave a cursory glance at his brother and went back to staring at his car. There was no way to avoid seeing the blood spattered around the mangled interior in the light of day, and it made his heart hurt. Some of it belonged to his dad. He’d come out with the intention of pulling the seats out and starting to fix her and then saw the blood…Dad’s blood, his, and Sam’s, and here he sat.

“What do you want, Sam?” Dean asked tiredly. He was cold inside with a weight of knowledge that he could not tell his little brother. How could he possibly tell him what Dad had said? It would crush him. He wrapped himself in the anger instead. That, he understood. It was safe.

“I was just…I wanted to make sure you’re…alright.” Sam winced at his own words. “I mean, physically.”

“I’m fine, Sam. Go away.” Dean glared over at him and hopped down off the barrel, turning into the shop.

“Dean.” Sam followed him to the door.

“Dude, seriously. Don’t.” Dean turned and sent a glare at him. The bruises and cuts on his little brother’s face were like accusations that he’d let things get away from him. He should have found a way to avoid all this.

Sam watched his stiff shoulders and nodded. “Fine.” He went back outside miserably. They needed to talk…he needed to talk, but Dean was nowhere near ready yet. He scrubbed a hand over his face and made for the house again, swallowing back the now-familiar tears and groaned. Everything would be easier to deal with if his body would just stop hurting.

Bobby came out of the house and nodded to Sam. “I’m gonna go do some shoppin’.” He looked out into the yard toward where he knew the Impala was and back to Sam’s too-pale face. “You be alright?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Hey, get pizza.” He smiled sadly. “Might tempt Dean to actually eat something.”

Bobby watched him take the stairs more slowly than someone his age should and the frown returned. He climbed up into his truck and decided to call and have a little chat with the doctor that had released Sam while he was out. Something was definitely ‘off’ with that boy.

Sam let the screen door thump closed behind him, and, as he heard Bobby’s truck pulling away, he bent over the post at the bottom of the stairs. “Dammit,” he moaned softly. His head was pounding, his shoulder still burning pain, and there was a spot in his back that felt like someone had their fist wedged in it. Every time he bent or turned, it screamed pain at him and stole his breath. He climbed the stairs slowly and swallowed convulsively, trying to ward off the sudden need to cough.

He made it to the top of the stairs and the cough won out. Sam bent double as the pain exploded and ran from his back to his chest. It took him to his knees, and his head began to split with an answering stab of pain behind his ear. “God,” Sam groaned and wheezed in a breath, trying to breathe around the tightening in his chest, failing as his panic grew and his breaths shortened. “D…Dea…” His vision tunneled in and he felt himself fall forward, unable to stop his crash into the floor.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean wandered out of the shop to look at the Impala again. He shook his head at himself and put his hands on the twisted roof. He’d heard Bobby’s truck leave twenty minutes ago and hoped Sam had gone with him. At least then he’d get some damn peace from Sam’s soulful, pathetic looks. He knew his brother was drowning in his own guilt, but a part of Dean felt he deserved it. It was petty, Dean knew, but he couldn’t stop his brain from thinking it. He looked up in surprise as Bobby’s truck reappeared and drove into the junkyard at speed before slamming to a stop outside the house in a cloud of dust.

Bobby emerged from the truck and looked over at him. “Dean! Where’s Sam?”

“How the hell should I know?” He called back and walked over.

“Dammit.” Bobby ran up the steps into the house. “Sam? Where are ya’, son?”

“Bobby, what’s going on?” Dean followed him inside, something inside him twisting uneasily, as the older man went into the front room looking for his brother. Dean looked up the stairs and had the sudden sensation of the ground falling out from under him. His brother’s feet were visible at the top of the stairs, just lying there. “Sam.” Dean breathed and then shouted for Bobby as he ran up the steps in a panic. “Sammy!” He climbed over Sam’s prone form and rolled him carefully up into his arms. “No, no, no. Don’t do this. Don’t you do this!” The only thought in his head was of their father lying dead on the hospital floor and fear choked him.

“Balls!” Bobby thundered up the stairs and reached a hand out to Sam’s throat. He let out a heavy breath. “He’s alive. He’s breathin’. Ease up, Dean.” He put a hand on Dean’s arm as tortured green eyes met his. “He’s just passed out. It’s normal.”

“Normal?” Dean glared up at him over Sam’s body. “How in hell is this normal?”

Bobby sighed. “Come on. Let’s get him in bed first. I’ll get his legs. Dean,” he urged, and took Sam’s legs up in his arms while Dean rose carefully with his head and shoulders. They carried him down the hall to Sam’s room and put him gently in his bed.

“What the hell happened?” Dean demanded as he sat beside his brother, watching his face. He needed Sam to wake up and look at him before he’d feel alright again.

“He hasn’t been looking right since you two got here, and this morning…I dunno. It looked like he was getting worse. I called the doc that let his stubborn ass walk out of the hospital.” Bobby ran a hand under his ballcap and looked down at Sam with a shake of his head. “He signed himself out to take care of you and your dad, and the doc, well…he wasn’t surprised when I called.” Bobby nodded to Sam. “He’s got a concussion, some bruised ribs, his left shoulder’s wrenched somethin’ fierce, and the doc said somethin’ about a…thoracic joint sprain.”

“What? What the hell is that?” Dean looked up at him, his whirling thoughts not seeming to completely grasp what Bobby was saying,and put a hand on his brother’s chest to feel it rising and falling with his breathing.

“Means there’s a sprain in his back where one of his ribs joins with his spine.” Bobby shrugged. “It’s not dangerous exactly, but this can happen.” He waved at Sam. “Restricts his breathin’ and hurts like hell. Not to mention he should’a been on his damn back with the concussion he’s got.”

“Stubborn son of a bitch,” Dean growled down at his brother. He wiped a shaking hand down his face as the fear-driven adrenaline started to fade away.

“Doc said Sam got twisted up in the wreck.” Bobby dropped his head, dealing with his own guilt at not questioning how the kid had just walked away when his father and brother had been so badly hurt.

Dean brushed his brother’s hair off his forehead and frowned. “He was rubbing his ribs earlier.” He closed his eyes as guilt swelled. “I ignored him. Bobby, I never even asked him…”

“Dean, son…” Bobby put a hand on his shoulder. “Ain’t no one blamin’ you for anything. You know he won’t either when he wakes up.”

“I know.” Dean nodded. “And he should, but he won’t.”

“I’m gonna get some ice, first aid kit…” Bobby patted Dean’s shoulder. “Doc said wrapping his ribs’ll keep him from aggravating the sprain while it heals.”

Dean listened to him leave and took his brother’s face in his hands, leaning over to look at him, really seeing how pale he was under the cuts and bruises that stood out in stark relief, and a whole new wave of guilt washed over him. How could he not have seen just how badly Sam had been hurting all this time. “Sam.” He slapped one side of his face lightly and Sam frowned and moaned softly. “That’s it. Sammy. Wake up.”

Sam blinked his eyes open in confusion, unsure why he was lying down with his brother holding his face and looking so worried. “Dean?” He thought back on the day and then remembered climbing the stairs. His eyes widened. “Oh, man.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded and leaned back. “When were you planning on telling us you were hurt?”

“M’not.” Sam tried to push up and rolled his eyes when Dean pushed him back down.

“Bobby called the doctor at the hospital. You’re busted, little brother,” Dean growled at him. “Stay put, dammit. What the hell were you thinking, Sammy? You could have been…” Dean couldn’t complete the thought.

Sam raised his right hand and laid it over his head, trying to ease the pounding headache. “Sorry. I didn’t think it was that bad.” He closed his eyes. “Dad was hurt, and you…you were…” He broke off as his breathing started to hitch in distress.

Dean nodded. He got it, but it didn’t make him like it any better. “Ok, breathe, dude.” He scowled as Sam’s hand came off his head and grabbed Dean’s arm instead frantically. “Sammy? Take a damn breath! Bobby!”

Bobby ran up the last few stairs and down the hall in time to watch Dean lifting a gasping, panicking little brother up against his shoulder. “It’s alright. It’s the thor…thorass…the sprain in his back messin’ with his breathing. Just calm him down.”

“Sammy, come on.” Dean held the side of his brother’s neck and made him look at him. “Slow it down already or you’re gonna pass out again. In and out, buddy.”

Sam nodded and closed his eyes, concentrating on getting short breaths in and out around the squeezing in his chest. He felt Dean’s hand slide over the back of his neck and the familiar gesture of comfort made him want to cry. He swallowed hard and allowed his head to drop forward onto Dean’s shoulder.

“You keep him up.” Bobby moved to sit behind Sam and tugged his shirts up. “Gotta wrap you up, Sam. Stay still.”

Sam raised his head a little with a frown. “Don’t have…broken…ribs.”

“No, you’ve got a sprain in your damn spine.” Dean kept his brother sitting up straight and held his shirt out of the way while Bobby started wrapping a bandage around his chest. “It’s why you’re having trouble.” He ducked to meet Sam’s eyes. “If you’d stayed in the damn hospital like you were supposed to, you’d know that.”

“Oh.” Sam said softly and closed his eyes to focus on keeping his breathing under control. He had to admit, it was getting easier as Bobby pulled the bandage more firmly in place and he dropped his head back down in relief.

“Stupid, stubborn, jackass.” Dean groaned and shook his head.

Bobby snorted. “Can’t imagine where he learned that from.” He said in a voice heavy with sarcasm and pulled Sam’s shirts back down over the bandage, ignoring the pissed look on Dean’s face. “Lay him back, gently.”

Dean eased his brother back to the bed while Bobby got out of the way and watched Sam’s face ease of some of the pain. “How’s your head?” He snarled when his little brother tried to turn his head away and grabbed his jaw, making him sit still while he checked his eyes, relieved to see them reacting as they should at least.

Sam lay quietly through Dean and Bobby’s ministrations. They manhandled him to check his shoulder and made him take painkillers, the good stuff, and so he was starting to feel like his head was floating above the bed when Dean sat beside him again. “Hey, Dean.”

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. “You should have told me, Sam.”

“When?” Sam asked suddenly and stared up at him. “You were…and Dad…I didn’t think about it, alright?” He shook his head and looked out the window rather than at his brother. “It wasn’t bad, really, until…I don’t even know. It sort of snuck up on me.”

Dean nodded and stood, dropping a hand to Sam’s shoulder before heading to the door. “Still should have told me. You scared the hell out of me, Sam.”

Sam looked back up at him and then realized what it must have looked like; finding him lying at the top of the stairs like that. “God, Dean. I’m sorry. I really am.” He watched his brother give a nod before leaving, and Sam choked on the apology. Tears sprang into his eyes because how badly did he wish he could have said those words to his father? He put his hand over his face and fought the hiccupping breaths. Crying wouldn’t change anything, and he couldn’t afford to fall apart and have Dean think he couldn’t trust him.

“Sam?” Bobby asked softly as he came in the room. It hurt his heart watching Sam hurriedly wipe tears from his face and then gamely smile for him as though he was alright.

“Painkillers.” Sam scrubbed his hand over his face and took a few deep, careful breaths. “Making me fuzzy.”

“Right.” Bobby took the blanket he’d brought in and spread it over Sam with a practiced twitch. He patted the boy’s leg with a gruff smile. “Take it easy for a bit. World ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“An hour or two. Ok.” Sam closed his eyes as he heard the sounds of screeching metal outside; Dean was starting on the car. He knew the hospital was releasing their father’s body to them later in the evening. He had to be there for Dean. He let the painkillers take him out of himself, floating in the quiet room with Bobby’s footsteps downstairs and Dean trying to beat the Impala back into shape outside. “I’m sorry, Dad,” Sam whispered and let sleep take him while it could.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	24. For Saphhire Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Saphhire Draco - Season 8, Dean comes back from Purgatory, finally tracking Sam down only to find that he's living under the care of Jody Mills.
> 
> A/N: This will be AU obviously by necessity of the prompt. :D Hope you enjoy this hon! Took me a while to figure out what to do with it! Lol

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean drove down the streets of Sioux Falls and sighed. Even after a year spent fighting for his life every day in Purgatory, something about the little town still said ‘home’ to him. He’d swallowed back a few tears as he passed the remains of Bobby’s home on the outskirts. Since getting back, he had tried every number he could think of to find his brother and had no luck at all until he called Jody. He played that short conversation over in his head again and frowned.

“Just come, Dean,” was all Jody would say once she realized it really was him and that he wasn’t dead. The fact that she wouldn’t tell him anything had set off all sorts of alarm bells in his brain and had his stomach in knots the entire trip west. He pulled up in front of Jody’s house -- still the same little house, and it said something about how strong she was that she could stay there after what had happened to her son and husband.

Dean climbed out of the stolen car and strode up the lawn, eyes alert for any sign of something ‘off’ as he stepped on to the porch. He raised a hand to knock on the door and it opened first. Dean smiled. “Hey, Sheriff.” Even though it was not entirely unexpected, he sputtered as water suddenly splashed in his face and brushed his eyes clear. “Not a demon.”

“Uh huh.” Jody frowned and moved aside. “Go on then. Come in.” She watched him as he stepped easily over the salt line at the door and then walked across the devil’s trap without a second thought.

“Here.” Dean pulled a small knife from his back and held it up. “Silver.” He sliced a shallow cut into his arm and showed it to her. “Satisfied?”   
  
“Maybe. Hold out your hand.” Dean complied, puzzled momentarily until Jody pulled another bottle from her pocket and splashed a Borax solution onto his skin. Oh, yeah…can’t forget about the leviathans. Dean surmised that they had not all just vanished when Dick Roman had gotten sucked back to Purgatory, dragging Dean and Cas with him.

Finally, Jody closed the front door and stared at him, allowing something like wonder to cross her face at last. “We thought…I thought you were dead, Dean.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then where? Where the hell have you been for a year?” Jody demanded and stalked past him to the kitchen.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked instead. “And don’t gimme any cryptic crap this time. Where’s my brother?”

“He’s fine. He’s alive.” Jody said and gave him a small smile. She reached a hand out to touch his arm, wrapping her fingers around it and sighed, closing her eyes. “You’re really here.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Long story. Sheriff.” He took her shoulders and looked urgently down at her, her continued evasiveness ratcheting up his anxiety. “Where is my brother?”

Jody took a breath and stepped back. She went to the cabinet and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses before turning back. “He’s here. In town, I mean.” She glanced over at the clock. “He’ll be home in an hour or so.”

“Home?” Dean asked, surprised. “This is…home? Is he hunting?”

“No.” Jody poured him a drink and then herself and knocked it back quickly. “Dean, he…there was an accident. He called me right after…after Dick.” She watched his face harden. “He didn’t know what happened. He said one minute you were there and the next you were just gone, you and Castiel both. Crowley told him…”

“Crowley?” Dean glared at her.

Jody waved him to silence. “Yes, Crowley. He told your brother you were gone, that you didn’t get to work magic like that and not pay a price.” She shook her head. “I don’t think Sam believed him, but he was pretty freaked out.” She took another deep breath. “He said he was on his way to me. I was…all he had left at that point.” Jody poured another drink and pushed the bottle over to Dean, figuring he’d need it shortly. “Anyway, he didn’t get here. I called and when someone finally answered his phone, it was a doctor. Sam had…he hit a dog and wrecked the car trying not to.” She raised a hand at the horrified look on Dean’s face and wondered whether he was more upset at the news Sam had been hurt or his car. That made her smirk.

“He was on some mountain road and swerving didn’t end well.” Jody tossed back her drink again and set the glass aside, watching Dean’s concerned eyes. “He hit his head hard, Dean. Hard enough it knocked something loose, and…Dean, he couldn’t remember anything.”

“What do you mean, couldn’t remember?” Dean had a sudden urge to set the glass aside and just grab the damn bottle.

“I mean anything, not even his own name.” Jody nodded as Dean’s jaw dropped. “Full retrograde amnesia is what they called it. He lost everything. I told them his name was Sam Mills, I was his sister, and I went and got him.” She shrugged. “Had to tell them something, and I figured ‘Winchester’ was probably still a dangerous name to have in a hospital.”

Dean nodded, relieved. “Good thinking.” He poured himself another drink and looked at her. “He remembers now though, right?”

Jody shook her head sadly. “No, Dean. He’s gotten back…bits and pieces, but…he still doesn’t remember.” She watched his face pale and her ‘mom’ instincts kicked in. She took Dean’s arm and pushed him into a chair. “He got his name back about six months ago. That’s something.” She smiled. “When he remembered he was Sam Winchester, he pretty much did a damn happy dance in the living room once he could stand again.” Jody chuckled.

“Wait, ‘stand again’?” Dean shook his head and grabbed her arm. “How bad is he?”

“When he remembers things, it…he…” Jody sighed and sat across from him. “It causes seizures. They’re just part of the healing process. The doctor said it has something to do with his brain creating new pathways or some medical crap.” She waved a hand. “I’ve got all the paperwork in the living room. Figured you’d want to read it. But the important thing is they’re not dangerous, not really, long as I keep him from hurting himself when it happens.”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean breathed and leaned back with a thump. Of all the scenarios that had run through his head the last year about reuniting with his little brother, this had been nowhere on the list. “He doesn’t remember me, does he?”

Jody shook her head. “No. Not exactly. Look…” She patted his arm, poured him another shot and then took the bottle to make coffee instead. “He knows someone’s missing. After he fixed the car, he…”

“He fixed my baby?” Dean asked incredulously and stood, following her.

Jody laughed. “Turns out remembering how to fix the Impala was one of the few things he didn’t lose. He’s a mechanic in town.” She smirked over her shoulder at the incredulous look on his face as she started a pot of coffee brewing. “Part time, and his boss is a friend of mine. He knows to watch out for the signs if Sam’s gonna have another seizure and call me.” She turned and leaned back against the counter.

“My little brother is a friggin’ mechanic.” Dean shook his head and laughed. It sounded strange, hearing himself laugh, and it hit him that it was the first time he really had since Purgatory.

Jody nodded. “Seems someone taught him about engines at some point.” She smiled fondly at him and patted his arm. “He knows that, but he can’t remember who. And he knows the Impala is ‘home.’” She shook her head, her smile turning a bit sad. “That’s how he puts it: The Impala’s his home, but she’s not his.”

Dean smiled and brushed a hand at his eyes irritably as he turned away. “Better not be a scratch on her. A mountain road? Seriously?”

“Yeah. I drove up there.” Jody shuddered remembering the steep cliff Sam had almost gone over and barely avoided. “Could have been a lot worse, believe me.”

“Alright. Details, Sheriff. Tell me everything.” Dean sat at her counter and raised his brows, waiting.

Jody rolled her eyes and grabbed a mug, pouring him a cup. “Only if you damn well call me Jody already. Geez, you two. Here.” She pushed the mug over. “Took me six months to get Sam to knock it off.”

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean’s head jerked up from the medical reports he was reading like a hound catching a scent at the distinctive sound of a classic engine rumbling into the driveway outside.

“Now, Dean.” Jody put a hand on his arm. “Don’t overwhelm him, alright? Give him time. He will remember you.”

Dean nodded stiffly and stood as he heard the front door open, and Jody left him to go meet his brother.

“Jody? I’m back!” Sam’s voice carried through the house and Dean’s heart clenched in recognition.

“Hey, Sam.”

Dean listened to her voice explaining that someone was here to see him and that Sam knew him, and Sam’s confusion and then acceptance, and a moment later his little brother, all six feet four inches of him, strode into the kitchen with Jody at his back and…stared blankly at him.

“Hello?” Sam looked at the tall man in Jody’s kitchen and frowned. He looked down at her and back over into worried, green eyes. “Jody says I know you.”

Dean swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. I’m…I’m Dean.” He looked over at Jody who gave him a nod. “I’m your brother, Sam.”

Sam’s brows flew up and his jaw opened.

“Sam?” Jody put a hand on his arm and moved so she could see his face. “You alright?”

“Huh? Uh…yeah. I just…little brother?” Sam asked sincerely, looking at the slightly shorter man.

“BIG brother, jackass!” Dean growled, and resisted the urge to punch him.

Jody laughed and patted Sam’s arm. “He’s your older brother Sam. He really is.”

Sam shook his head, looking dazed and went to the counter, leaning on it as he tried to wrap his brain around this new information. He studied the man, Dean, as he came to stand near him. The longer he looked at him, Sam had to admit that something did feel…familiar…about the spiky, sandy brown hair, green eyes, his freckles… “I do know you.” He said softly.

“You remember me, Sammy?” Dean asked and sighed when Sam shook his head.

“Just a…a feeling.” Sam frowned while Jody slid a cup of coffee across the counter and he looked down at his hands.

“Hey.” Jody put a hand on his arm, not liking the way his face looked.

“It’s…it’s Sam.” Sam said softly. He wrinkled his nose and looked up.

Dean grinned. “Not to me, it ain’t, Sammy.”

“I smell…” Sam shook his head. “Why do I smell leather and…and gun oil?”

“Shit!” Jody moved to rush around the counter, but Dean beat her there.

Dean caught his brother as he crashed toward the floor like a stone and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Sammy!”

“Don’t let him hurt himself!” Jody shoved the stool away from them and grabbed Sam’s legs while Dean held his body and Sam began to shake and seize in their arms.

Dean held him, arms wrapped around his shoulders and let Sam’s head knock against his chest. “Jody?”

“It’s alright.” Jody made herself breathe and look up at him. “He’s remembering something.” She gave him a rueful smile. “You, probably. It’ll stop soon.”

Dean watched his brother’s face, twisted up with the effort of the seizure and then, just as quickly as it had come, it passed and Sam went lax in his arms. “Sammy?” Dean palmed the side of his face and turned his brother’s face up to him. He looked asleep.

“He’s out.” Jody nodded at his worried look as she leaned back in relief. “Usually I just shove a pillow under his head and sit with him until he comes out of it.” She waved at Sam with a soft laugh. “I can’t carry his ass.”

Dean snorted. “I can. Living room?” He gathered Sam up when Jody nodded, struggled to his feet and half carried, half dragged his little brother into the living room and laid him down on the couch where he sat next to him and kept a hand on the side of his neck, taking comfort in the steady beat of Sam’s heart.

“He really is alright. I promise.” Jody told Dean gently and put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s gonna have a hell of a headache when he wakes up though. He always goes all puppy-dog on me. It’s pathetic.” She laughed and rolled her eyes. She saw the tightening around Sam’s eyes that meant he was coming out of it and smiled. “I’m gonna get him some juice and painkillers. He’s all yours.”

“Yeah, he is.” Dean said softly as Jody left them alone. He’d expected a lot of things on his return from Purgatory but never this; never a brother who didn’t even know who he was. Dean didn’t know where to start, what to do. What if Sam never remembered him? Or hunting? Dean frowned. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Sam could just go on living his normal life, fixing cars. Dean smiled. Sam fixing cars; it was almost as though, even though he couldn’t remember his brother, he was driven to do something to honor him.

Sam moaned softly, rolling his head and Dean squeezed his hand on his neck as he had ever since Sam was small whenever he needed comfort, a gesture as familiar and natural to Dean as breathing. “Hey, buddy. Wake up.” Dean watched, waiting and smiled as Sam’s hazel eyes finally fluttered open to look at him. “Tryin’ to give me grey hairs, Sammy?” He brushed Sam’s long, dark hair out of his eyes and cupped the side of his face.

“What happened to…no chick flicks?” Sam asked softly.

Dean smirked. “Well, there’s…” He stopped, surprise rushing through him and met Sam’s eyes. “Sammy?”

Sam nodded. He clasped a hand around one of Dean’s forearms and closed his eyes as a first tear escaped to run down his temple. “I remember,” he whispered, tightening his grip on his brother. “I remember everything.” He did -- Dean, him, their father, hunting, Bobby…standing in a room painted in leviathan blood, alone, and his big brother just…gone.

“Hey, hey, hey. Come’re.” Dean pulled Sam up suddenly as tears started to flow and wrapped him in a fierce hug. “Take it easy.”

Sam buried his face in Dean’s neck and shook. “Where were you?” he asked, his voice muffled in his brother’s shirt as he held on to him, afraid if he loosened his grip Dean would vanish and this would be a dream.

Dean shook his head and rubbed a hand up and down Sam’s back trying to ease the sobs he felt shuddering through his little brother’s shoulders. “Doesn’t matter right now. I’m here. I gotcha.”

Sam tightened his grip and didn’t give a damn how far into chick flick territory he was dragging his big brother right then because…he was back. Dean was back and there and alive and Sam remembered him and the world could go to hell.

Dean held him just as tight and closed his eyes as he finally felt his world click into place. Until Sam had grabbed hold of him, a part of him was still worried that he wasn’t really out, that he was still lost in Purgatory somewhere having delusions, or dreaming and would wake up to find Benny standing over him again. He buried his fingers in Sam’s shaggy hair. He felt his own throat tightening up and fought the urge to break down himself, as the relief at having Sam back combined with finally being able to let go of the pent up fear and rage of the previous year washed over him.  
  
“I’m right here, Sammy. I’m right here.” Dean held him tight while Sam cried out everything he’d lost and now remembered. “It’s gonna be ok.” He wasn’t sure if that was true, but for Sam he’d damn well try and make it be. “We’re ok.”

Jody stood in the hall, leaning against the wall and let the tears fall down her face unchecked. She clutched the glass of juice to her chest along with the pill bottle and closed her eyes. She looked up to the ceiling then and sent a silent prayer to Bobby, wherever he was, letting him know that his boys were finally alright.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_The End._


	25. For Bastet'syoungestkitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Bastet’syoungestkitten - Could you do something that explains why it  
> had only been 2 years instead of 4 since Dean had heard from Sam in college in season 1?
> 
> A/N: Pre-series. Two years into Sam’s time at Stanford. :D

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Sam listened to the ringing phone in his hand and cringed, imagining how this call was going to go. When it was finally answered, he took a deep breath. “Hey, Dean.” He tried for easy and relaxed.

“Sammy.” Dean heard more in those two words than anyone else would have and he scowled. “What’s wrong?” He could have asked how the last two years had been, how’s college, meet any girls, miss me? But none of that mattered the moment he heard something ‘off’ in his brother’s voice.

“What? Why’s something have to be wrong?” Sam said defensively even though, yes, something was. “Can’t a guy just call to check on his big brother?”

“Uh huh.” Dean started tossing clothes into his duffel and stopped to scrawl a hasty note for his father who was off on a job and wouldn’t be back for a few days. “I’ll ask again. What’s wrong?”

“Oh for…” Sam groaned and gave in. “Alright. I need help…backup. Ok?”

“Sammy. I thought you ditched hunting for college. What the hell?” Dean stopped with his hand on the motel room door in surprise.

“I did.” Sam rubbed a hand down his face and leaned back. “I wasn’t hunting. We were -- a couple friends and me, we were checking out this old building. Jack’s an architect major and he wants to renovate it so we were mapping out the floors and taking measurements…”

“The point, Sam. Today?” Dean smirked as his brother went geek on him and pulled the Impala’s door open, sliding behind the wheel, relaxing ever so slightly hearing that essentially Sam was okay and there was no impending disaster looming. A hunt with his brother he could handle.

Sam rolled his eyes. “There’s a ghost, alright? Went into one room and the temperature must have dropped 10 degrees. Then the lights started fritzing -- the usual stuff. I got everyone out before they, you know, realized anything was wrong besides a drafty building with bad wiring.” He ran a hand over his right thigh and grimaced. “I went back later and tried to take it out on my own, but uh…backup would be nice. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Dean slammed the brakes, the Impala screeching to a stop at the end of the parking lot. “You went after it alone? What the hell were you thinking, Sam?” He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, praying for patience and started the car moving again. “How bad’d it tag you?” He growled into the phone when he heard his brother start to say he was fine. “Dude, don’t lie to me. I’m gonna be there in two hours.”

Sam opened his mouth, closed it and groaned. “Fine. It’s not bad. I’m alright. I am,” he insisted and then frowned. “Wait. Two hours? Where are you?”

“Around.” Dean grinned and hit the gas. “See you soon.” He flipped the phone closed and the grin fell away. He understood why Sam hadn’t called in two years. He didn’t like it, but he got it. However, he would have thought Sam would damn well know better than to hunt without backup, especially after being out of the game for so long. He snarled and pressed harder on the gas.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Sam leaned on the low stone wall outside his dorm building. He heard the Impala’s engine long before he saw the car and couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face at the sound; it was the sound of home and Dean and…he scrubbed a hand down his face. “Not anymore,” he said softly and watched as the sleek, black muscle car rumbled up in front of him and parked and his brother climbed out. “Hey, Dean.” Sam smiled, genuinely happy to see him again after what suddenly felt like way too long.

Dean stood and leaned back against his car, crossing his arms on his chest and looked at his little brother. His hair was longer and hung in his eyes and Dean smirked. Sam looked good and was giving him a bitch face that made Dean roll his eyes, falling easily back into his lifelong role of big brother.“Before we go anywhere, where are you hurt?”

Sam groaned. He’d sort of hoped Dean would let it go. “It’s nothing.” He subconsciously put a hand on his right thigh.

Dean raised a brow and snorted. “We’re not goin’ anywhere ‘til I know you’re not gonna face-plant on me.”

“You’re still a jerk,” Sam growled. “Stab wound in my thigh. It’s no big deal, and no, I’m not dropping my pants to show you.”

Dean chuckled and waved at the car. “Well, get in then.” He watched Sam straighten and walk around to the passenger side with a critical eye. He was limping and working real hard to hide it. He got back in the car and looked over at Sam before turning the engine back on and didn’t miss the wistful smile as the car rumbled to life. “Where to?”

Sam gave him directions and was silently grateful Dean wasn’t playing twenty questions with him. “I’m pretty sure the guy’s bones are actually in the building. There are some pretty concrete articles from thirty years ago about it. Seems one of the partners in the construction company building the place went missing after arguing with the others. Body was never found, nothing ever proven, but everything pointed to them. What better place to hide a body than in a building under construction, right?”

“Any idea where?” Dean turned down the street Sam had mentioned and tried to remember if he had a sledge hammer in the trunk.

“Third floor,” Sam said ruefully and rubbed his thigh over the wound. “He pretty much ignored me until I started swinging at the walls up there.” He watched the street lights pass for a minute and then glanced over at his brother. “So, uh…where’s Dad? Is he…you know, ok?”

Dean clenched his teeth and didn’t look at him. “He’s fine, Sam. Don’t start.”

“I wasn’t starting anything! Geez.” Sam rolled his eyes. “I was just asking, alright?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, shoving it out of his eyes with an aggravated huff.

“He’s down in Texas with Bobby,” Dean said after a minute, once he was sure Sam wasn’t going to start the old argument. “Shapeshifter.”

“That’s it.” Sam pointed out the window to a tall, six-story building and sat up straighter in the seat. “Why didn’t you go with?”

Dean sighed and opted not to tell his brother it was because he made a point of making sure he was never more than a day away from Stanford. Most of the time he succeeded, and he was glad this was one of those times. Dean figured Dad knew damn well what he was doing, but he didn’t say anything, for which Dean was grateful. “Stayed behind to hustle up some funds.” Dean smiled over at Sam and waggled his brows. “Dad bows to my skills.”

Sam snorted a laugh, shaking his head and climbed out once Dean parked. “You’re shameless, man.”

“Oh, Sammy. You have no idea.” Dean chuckled and got out, going to the trunk. He opened it up and pulled out two sawed-off shotguns, handing one to Sam.

“Left my hammer inside.” Sam checked over the shotgun automatically and grabbed a flashlight from the trunk while Dean shoved salt and lighter fluid into a bag.

Dean pulled out a hand-axe and tucked that in the back of his belt. “Alright. Let’s go roast a ghost.” He closed the trunk and waved Sam ahead of him while he looked up at the dark building. “Architect major? Really? You should be hangin’ with the cheerleaders, dude. I’m disappointed, Sammy.”

Sam chuckled and rolled his eyes. “It’s Sam, and I’m actually here to learn, remember?”

“Missin’ out on all the fun, geek boy.” Dean pulled open the side door Sam pointed to and stepped inside. He wrinkled his nose. “It smells like ass in here.”

“Should have taken a shower then, huh?” Sam shot back and ducked the swing Dean sent at his arm. It was comforting the way they so easily fell back into old habits, and it hurt at the same time, knowing that, when this was over, Dean would be gone again. Sam did want his normal life with all his heart, but he missed his family; he missed Dean.

“You know I can still kick your ass,” Dean warned. “Stairs or elevator?”

Sam gave him a shove away from the elevator doors. “Stairs. This guy likes to play with the elevators.”

Dean took the lead up to the third floor and raised a brow when he saw a sledge hammer sitting on the landing. “Lose something?”

“I was in a hurry.” Sam shrugged and picked it up. “He was kinda pissed at me.”

“You have that effect,” Dean said deadpan and chuckled as he pulled the third floor door open and peered out into the hall with his flashlight. “Which way?”

Sam hefted the hammer and nodded. “Left. Four doors down.”

Dean nodded and stepped out. He put his shotgun under his arm and dug out his EMF meter, flicking it on. The needle climbed halfway up and stayed there. “Huh. Well, he’s here somewhere. Come on.” He swapped hands and got his finger on the trigger of his gun again. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sam to have his back, but it’d been two years since Sam hunted and the ghost had already proven he was violent. He wasn’t going to take chances.

“That’s it.” Sam waved his flashlight to the open door, suddenly leery of going back in the room, but he quickly squashed the fear. He was with Dean.

Dean nodded and walked into what once had been a spacious apartment. He shone his light around the wide open room, noting several holes in the walls, and then a cold weight fell into his stomach. A pool of blood glistened darkly in his flashlight beneath the hole farthest from the door. He turned and glared at his brother. “I thought you said it was nothing.” He pointed his light at the congealing pool of blood and looked at Sam. “That is not nothing! What the hell’d he stab you with?”

Sam eased around Dean, wary of his brother deciding he really did need a look at his damn leg. “Piece of pipe out of the wall.” He put his flashlight up and held up the hammer. “Can we do this now?”

Dean growled angrily as Sam went past him to the far wall. “Can you swing that thing?” There was enough blood on the floor to make him wonder just how weakened Sam actually was.

Sam tossed him another bitch face and swung the hammer into an unbroken section of wall in answer. Yes, his leg hurt, but he wasn’t about to let on; not with Dean obviously three seconds away from going full out mother-hen on him.

Dean looked up to the ceiling for patience for a moment and then went on a slow stroll of the room, looking into doors and watching the EMF. The needle stayed firmly put until Sam moved on to the next section of wall and swung the sledge hammer. The EMF suddenly screeched in Dean’s hand as the temperature in the room dropped. “Head’s up, Sammy.”

“I hear it.” Sam glanced around the room and then swung again at the hole he’d started, knocking another chunk of plaster loose. He gasped and backed up as a spectral head appeared in the hole and screamed at him. “Shit!” Sam instinctively ducked and heard Dean’s shotgun go off as pellets of rock salt scattered into the wall above him. He stood back up and smiled. “Thanks.”

“Hurry it up.” Dean jacked another round into the chamber and moved closer to Sam. “Dude, you really pissed this guy off.”

“He pissed _me_ off,” Sam said darkly as the wound in his thigh made itself known and he shifted his weight onto his left leg before swinging the hammer again. He took his flashlight back out and shone it into the wall. “Yahtzee! Got a body.”

Dean nodded, his nerves tingling with the sure knowledge the ghost was still here and just waiting. “Burn him in the wall? It’d be easier.”

Sam shook his head. “Might take the whole building, and Jack just bought the damn thing.” He chuckled and swung the hammer again, opening the hole until he could see the skeleton. “I’d rather we didn’t burn his investment to the ground.”

Dean shrugged. “Ok. But this guy pisses me off anymore and I’m gonna cut our losses. Fair warning.”

Sam rolled his eyes and set the hammer down so he could lean into the wall and get a look at the dead man. He closed his fingers around the rib cage with a grimace. It wasn’t the kind of sparkly white skeleton you found in museums. It was more like a desiccated mummy with dark, leathery skin holding the bones together. It made his job easier yet somehow more macabre.

“Yeesh.” Dean grimaced as Sam brought the body out into the flashlight beam. “That thing still looks juicy.”

“Thanks…for the visual.” Sam grunted and dragged the body out, trying to unhook one of the feet from the edge of the hole. “Dammit.”

Dean turned at a strange rattling sound and his eyes widened. “Shit!” He threw himself at his brother and took them both to the floor along with the skeleton which crunched beneath their combined weight. Small lengths of pipe embedded in the wall where Sam had been standing and Dean looked up them angrily. “Son of a bitch!” He rolled off his brother when he heard Sam grunt. “You alright?”

Sam nodded and pushed away from the skeleton until he was sitting against the wall. “Yeah,” His voice was a little breathless and he wrapped both hands around his right thigh.

“Lemme see.” Dean pulled Sam’s hands up and cursed again at the sight of blood staining through his jeans. “Reopened it, huh?” Sam just nodded and looked pained. “Ok. I got this.” Dean set the flashlight down and pulled his bag around front for the salt.

“Dean!” Sam pulled his brother’s shotgun from his hand and aimed it over his head, straight into the furious face of the dead man. He fired and the ghost vanished in a burst of salt and mist.

“Nice.” Dean grinned and straightened. “Just like old times, huh, Sammy?” He thumped Sam’s shoulder and stood to pull the corpse out into the center of the room. He took out the salt and upended it over the remains, then grabbed the lighter fluid and did the same.

“Dean…”

“No way. This bastard’s not gonna let us get his bones out of the building.” Dean said firmly and took out his Zippo. He’d warned Sam that he wouldn’t risk their lives just to save a building. He spun the wheel and dropped the flame onto the corpse. The flames burst to life and Dean grinned; satisfied as he stepped back and went to his brother. “Come on.” He held down a hand and pulled Sam to his feet.

Sam watched the body burning as smoke roiled up to the ceiling. “Maybe the fire suppression system will kick in.”

“Don’t care.” Dean said cheerfully. He pulled one of Sam’s arms over his shoulders and shoved him into a walk before the room filled with smoke. “No offense to your geek friend.”

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “Right. Dude, I can walk.”

“Tough.” Dean ignored him and they went down the hall to the elevator with Sam limping at his side.

It was quiet in the elevator and as they made their way out of the building. The ride in the Impala back to Sam’s dorm was quiet as well with both of them having so many things they wanted to say and afraid to say any of them for fear of picking a fight and not wanting to leave that way. Sam sighed as Dean parked in front of his dorm and looked out the window at the building.

“I could come in. Check that for ya.” Dean said softly and waved at his brother’s leg when Sam looked over.

Sam shook his head and smiled. “It’s really not bad, man. I swear.” He chuckled. “I’m in college now. I can’t walk around with bleeding wounds I can’t explain. Believe me, I’m gonna take care of it.” He put a hand on the door and just sat there, loathe to leave the comforting rumble of the only home he’d known for so very long and the familiar, comfortable presence of his brother sitting beside him.

“So…you doing good? You know, classes and stuff?” Dean asked and raised a brow at him. “I mean you better be, or I’ll kick your ass.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, Dean. I do really well.” He rolled his eyes. “Lots of studying and research.”

“Well, you damn well know how to do that.” Dean laughed and then sobered. He climbed out of the car and walked around to the passenger side, reaching down for his brother when the door opened and pulled him up. He looked at the spot of blood on his leg and then up at his face. “Sammy, you can’t keep hunting on your own. You need backup.”

Sam raised his hands. “Whoa, dude. I’m not. This was…a fluke, Dean.” He meant that. “I don’t plan on this happening again. I’m out.” Sam smiled to take the sting out of it. “This is my life now, Dean. I mean, you and…and Dad.” He sighed and dropped his hands. “I miss you, ok? I really do. A lot. But this is what I want; not hunting. Normal. Safe.”

Dean ground his teeth and swallowed the disappointment. “Fine. I’ll stay outta your way, but you promise me, Sammy.” Dean grabbed his shoulders and gave him a shake, “somethin’ happens and you do have to hunt, you call me, dammit. You got it?” He glared Sam down. “I mean it. This doesn’t happen again.” He knocked his knee into the wound on Sam’s thigh and grinned when he hissed with pain.

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed Dean off. “Yeah, Jerk. I got it. I promise. Now, can I please go back to normal life and exams?”

Dean nodded and smiled. “Bitch.”

Sam snorted a laugh and watched him round the car back to the driver’s side. Sam leaned down in the passenger window after Dean got in. “I’m happy here, Dean. I really am. But I need you to be okay, too, so you” – his voice caught a little. “You take care of yourself, Dean.” He sighed. “And Dad.” It suddenly hurt, knowing he was about to watch his brother drive away.   
  
Dean saw it in his eyes and had to clear his throat past the emotion stuck there. “Always do, Sammy.” He winked over at him. “Do a cheerleader for me, dude. Just once.”

Sam stood and laughed as the Impala streamed away from the curb and off into the night. “Bye, Dean.” He sighed once the car was out of sight and turned to look up at his dorm. Sam limped up the stairs tiredly and smirked as he looked up to his room and saw a light in the window. “Explaining this is gonna be fun. Damn.” He groaned and went inside, wondering what Dean would think of his incredibly hot girlfriend. Sam chuckled all the way up the stairs.

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_The End._


	26. For Sammynanci

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Sammynanci - As one of your past loved fics because Sam's visions always liked(and I think you should get more out of their powers) I'd like a story in which Sam suffers from strong (very strong, muhhahah, poor boy, xd) visions caused by someone who is controlling a "baykok" (exclusive nocturnal spirit Ojibwa or Chippewa Indians) that eliminates warriors(soldiers or policemen fellow ex seeking revenge) and resulting in Sam's visions. The rest of the problem, the damage and leave Sammy and I leave it to your choice, you will surely be great!
> 
> A/N: This one is set after 2x15 ‘Tall Tales’ and lovely gruesome choice of creature thank you nanci! :D

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Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music from the radio and grinned. “I figure we can swing through Jersey and hit up Atlantic City.” He chuckled. “It ain’t Vegas, but it’s close enough. I think we earned a little break.” He looked over at his brother and rolled his eyes; he was staring out the passenger window, apparently not having heard a word Dean had been saying.“Earth to Sammy. Hey!”

“Huh?” Sam looked over and frowned. He squeezed his eyes shut on the sudden headache and shook his head. “Sorry.”

Dean’s good mood quickly drained away as he watched Sam raise a hand to his head. “Sam? What’s up?”

Sam shook his head and wrapped both hands around it as pain ratcheted through his skull. He gasped in a breath and was only distantly aware of the car swerving hard to the side of the road and Dean’s voice calling his name fearfully.

Dean ran the car up on the grass as Sam cried out and collapsed into the seat holding his head. “Shit! Sam? Sam! Hang on!” He tore out of the driver’s seat and around to the passenger side, ripped the door open and caught his brother as he started to topple out, senseless. “Sammy?” Dean pulled him out and sat him up against the side of the car, holding his head as Sam’s eyes stared sightless at nothing. “Come on, Sam. Come back,” Dean whispered it like a plea, willing the damn vision to stop so his brother could take a breath, because even that stopped while it was happening.

Sam twitched in Dean’s grip weakly, then more strongly. “Sammy? That’s it. Come back now.” Dean kept a firm grip on his head. All of a sudden, Sam’s arms flew up to grasp Dean’s as he sucked air in like a long-distance runner and his eyes finally blinked. “Hey! Hey! Hey! Easy, buddy.

“Dean!” Sam gasped and then groaned, letting his head fall forward onto his brother’s shoulder, unable to support it as the pain swamped him. “God.”

“Take it easy.” Dean kept him from face-planting into the grass and took a few steadying breaths of his own before pushing him back enough to see his face. “Talk to me, Sam. What’d you see?”

Sam nodded slowly, squinting against the pain. “Great Lakes…Ontario I think. A…a forest and…a creature.” He stopped, shuddering with the memory. The vision had been more visceral than normal, and he was having trouble separating himself from it.

“Ok. Ok.” Dean made the decision and muscled Sam up from the ground and back into the car. “Let’s get moving before some good samaritan decides to stop and see if we’re alive.” He reached across and belted Sam into the seat, not liking the pallor of his skin or the haunted look in his eyes. Silently he cursed the damn visions that had seemingly come out of nowhere and were increasingly tormenting his brother both physically and emotionally. Yes, when he was being honest with himself, the implications frightened him, not knowing where the strange power had come from; but, more than that, it pissed him off that ANYTHING would hurt Sam like that and there was nothing he could do to stop it.)

Sam stared at the floor between his knees and rubbed a hand over his head. The vision was still there, beating at his mind with the parade of images -- fear, blood, pain, and red eyes burning out at him from the darkness. “It’s bad, Dean. We have to stop this.”

Dean nodded as he pulled back onto the road. He reached a hand to the back of his brother’s neck and rested it there, offering him what little comfort he could. If he could have taken the visions for Sam, he would have; anything to spare his brother the agony it caused him every time and the even worse guilt each time they failed to save someone.

“We’ll get there, Sam,” Dean said surely. “So, any idea where on Lake Ontario?”

Sam nodded wearily and rolled his head into the window, letting the cool glass soothe some of the pain. “There was a lighthouse. I’ll find it when we stop.”

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Dean stood beside his brother and looked up at the lighthouse above them. “You sure?”

“Sodus Point. Yeah.” Sam nodded and turned to look at the forest that spread out beyond it. “This is definitely what I saw in my vision.” He started off toward the forest with Dean at his side. He’d also found out what he thought the creature might be and couldn’t escape the bad feeling that had crawled over his skin the moment he’d found it in spite of the crude jokes the creature’s name had inspired Dean to make.

“So, where’sthis guy get beaten by Baykok?” Dean asked and gave a lopsided grin to the disgusted look on his brother’s face.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sooner or later you’re gonna run out of jokes.”

Dean snorted. “Not likely.” Humor was his only defense against the worry in his gut. Baykok was a nasty piece of work from the lore Sam had found, and that, combined with the fact that Sam had seen it in a vision, made him damn nervous. He glanced sideways at his brother and that didn’t help. He was still paler than he should be and holding himself while he walked as though his head was still tender.

Sam was still trying to figure it out. He’d seen the Baykok killing the man clearly enough, but there had been something else…some dark figure in the background that he sensed was controlling the creature, and he couldn’t bring it into focus. It was important. He was sure of that if nothing else, and it was nagging at him.

“Dude. Pay attention.” Dean gave him a push to the side, stopping Sam from walking into a tree and rolled his eyes. “If you’re gonna be this out of it, you can go back to the motel and I’ll do this on my own.”

“No!” Sam said vehemently and couldn’t explain the panic that swept through him. “We stay together.”

“Alright. Geez. Don’t get your panties in a knot.” Dean shook his head. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Sam scowled at himself. He needed to get a better handle on himself. He put his attention on the forest instead. He wished he had a time frame from his vision. They had no way of knowing exactly when the victim Sam had seen would be here, but he felt it was soon, if not too late already. His visions seemed to go that way sometimes, giving him no chance to actually change anything, and he understood Dean’s frustration each time that happened.

Dean raised his head, sniffing on the early evening air and groaned. “You smell that?” He stepped up next to his brother and stayed close. “That’s blood…a lot of it, and close.”

“No,” Sam breathed and that hopeless feeling dropped into his stomach. They were too late. He didn’t need to see the body to know.

“Might not be the guy in your vision.” Dean said, but he knew he was wrong. They didn’t get that lucky. He didn’t say anything when Sam turned, heading to the left as though he knew where they going. He probably did without even realizing. He just followed quietly at his back and kept his eyes on the darkening trees around them for any sign of the creature.

“Dammit,” Sam said softly and stopped as they neared a small clearing and what was clearly a body in the center. He made himself walk closer and stopped a few feet away as his eyes made sense of what he was seeing. The man had been badly beaten, and blood splattered the grass and leaves around him in a wide swathe. His chest cavity was torn open, and he knew, if they looked, his liver would be missing.

“That him?” Dean asked and knelt by the head, grimacing at the damage inflicted on him.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I, uh…I recognize the jacket.” He couldn’t see much of the face as it had been beaten to a pulp, but it was definitely the brown and orange jacket he’d seen in his vision. “We’re too late.”

“We couldn’t have stopped this.” Dean stood and put a hand on his shoulder. “We came straight here, dude. This isn’t your fault.”

Sam nodded numbly. “I know, I…” He broke off on a hiss of pain and slapped his free hand to his head. “Gah…”

“Sammy? Aw, come on! Again?” He wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders to try and support him as he doubled over. “Easy, Sammy.” He grunted as Sam’s knees went out from under him and took them both to the ground. “Dammit!” Dean was torn between taking care of Sam and watching both their backs. The kill was fresh and the creature could be watching them. It made his skin crawl with nerves. He pulled Sam in against him and kept his gun up.

_Sam was pulled through the new vision like being sucked down a whirlpool. It took his breath away as the forest swirled around him like a live thing. He heard screaming cut the heavy air. Red eyes blinked into being inches from his face, and then the vision changed, dropping him to the forest floor and making the breath rush out of him. Normally, he was a formless observer in his visions, but for some reason, with these, he was actually a part of them. He dragged himself to his knees and looked up…on a scene out of his nightmares._

_Dean stood feet away, looking into the trees above Sam’s head with his gun raised and no sense of the monstrous thing rising up behind him. Sam opened his mouth to scream out to him, but no sound came. Sam was trapped watching as the Baykok stepped out into the moonlight. The pale light shone down on an emaciated, skeletal face and body covered in a thin, translucent skin. Red eyes blazed out of the hollows in its skull. Sam shook with the need to stop it. He was frozen as the Baykok raised a massive club above its head and brought it down on his brother’s skull, crushing him to the forest floor._

“NO!” Sam came awake with the cry on his lips and struggled against the arms holding him until he realized whose they were. “Dean! God!”

“Holy crap, Sam!” Dean supported his now trembling brother as he collapsed against him and wrapped shaking hands around Dean’s forearm while he wheezed for breath. The visions left Dean as shaken as his little brother, with fear, if not with the pain. “Sam?” He took his eyes off the forest long enough to roll Sam’s head up. “You with me?”

Sam blinked and nodded, still gasping for air. Slowly, he made himself loosen his grip from his brother’s arm and look up at him again. “Dean.”

“Ok, we’re getting out of here. Now.” Dean stood and forced Sam to come with him, holding him against his side when his legs threatened to fail him.

“It was you,” Sam gasped and wrapped his hands in the front of Dean’s jacket in a desperate need for him to understand. “The vision…I saw you!”

“Saw me what?” Dean asked as he pulled Sam into a shuffling walk.

“The creature…the Baykok.” Sam pulled Dean to a stop desperately. “It’s gonna kill you!”

“No, it ain’t.” Dean met his fearful eyes with as sure a gaze as he could manage. “You’re here and we know about it. Not. Going. To happen. Got it?”

Sam watched the calm knowledge in his brother’s eyes and tried to let it settle him. He nodded and took a shaking breath. “Ok. Ok.”

“Come on. Time to move.” Dean made him start walking again, saying nothing as Sam kept a hand fisted in his jacket. The kid was shaken enough he seemed to need it like an anchor and he was still staggering with the after effects of the vision. Night was falling in earnest, and the moon was giving them the only light to see by now.

“It’s close.” Sam knew it as he looked blearily up around them, seeing the silvered light of the moon beginning to shine down on the forest. “The vision…it’s coming.”

“Were you with me when it happened?” Dean asked and Sam shook his head. “Then we’re good.”

Sam wished it was that easy, but he could still feel it in his bones, like an impending doom stalking them, and it stole his breath away. He had to concentrate to keep his feet moving through the pounding in his skull. His visions always made his head hurt, but something about these was different; the pain was more intense and near crippling.

“Sam. Come on.” Dean urged him on as his brother’s head dropped and he was still breathing hard. He was weak and it was scaring Dean. He half-carried him out of the forest, and Sam’s legs went out from under him at the edge. “Ok, buddy. Ok.” Dean eased him down against a tree and knelt in front of him. “Car’s right there.” Dean pointed out to the Impala parked sixty or so yards away in a lot. “I’m gonna bring it over here. Stay.”

“Dean. No.” Sam made a grab for his arm and missed as Dean stood.

“Two minutes, Sam.” Dean said and jogged out onto the field.

“No.” Sam struggled to get to his feet, using the tree at his back. That sense of impending doom was screaming at him now as Dean moved away. He slapped a hand over his head as the pain ratcheted up, threatening to send him to his knees again. “Dammit.” Sam cursed and staggered away from the tree. “Dean!” He yelled it as loudly as he could and ran.

Dean turned to look back and stared as Sam ran unevenly toward him. “Sam, what the hell?” He took a step back and cried out as something glanced off the back of his shoulder. Dean went to the ground and rolled away. He looked up into the glaring, red eyes of the Baykok. “Crap!” He scrambled back, holding his burning shoulder and jumped as shots rang out and the skeletal creature jerked with the hits.

“Dean! Move!” Sam shouted as he neared and fired again. Each report of his own gun was like a stab to his head, and he swallowed a groan of agony. He emptied the clip into the Baykok’s chest and watched the creature raise its arms. A shimmering line appeared between its hands as Sam watched. It had the vague shape of a bow, and then the creature flicked its fingers. Sam shouted in surprised pain and looked down to see blood streaming from an open wound in his leg.

“Sammy!” Dean drew the knife from his hip with his left hand, wishing his right wasn’t tingling and numb from the glancing blow of the creature’s club, and charged to his feet. He slammed into the bony body of the Baykok and took it to the ground beneath him. Dean used his weight and drove his knife into the stomach cavity. If Sam’s research was right, there was only one organ in there for him to find. The Baykok screamed in rage, and Dean ducked under a swing from one bony arm.

Dean shouted as the creature landed a blow on his already-injured right shoulder and shoved his left hand up further into the chest cavity. The Baykok suddenly went tense beneath him as if straining, and Dean knew he had it. He dug the blade deeper and ripped upward, tearing the thin skin apart. He let go of the knife handle and closed his fingers around the liver. He grimaced at the warm, slimy feeling as he pulled it free of the Baykok’s chest and tossed it away. The creature shook violently and then went still as its arms and legs dropped to the ground to lie still.

Dean slapped a hand over its bony face, noting the eyes had gone dark. “Don’t go anywhere, ugly.” He rolled painfully off the thing and stumbled over to Sam. “Hey.” Sam was on his side with one hand on his head and the other wrapped around his thigh. “How bad is it?”

“Forgot,” Sam gasped out between heavy breaths. “Stupid.”

“Forgot what?” Dean pulled Sam’s fingers up enough to get a look and winced. Whatever had hit him had gone straight through and out the other side.

“Invisible arrows…in the lore.” Sam squeezed his eyes open to look over at the creature. “Still in…my leg.”

“What?” Dean asked in surprise. His eyes told him there was nothing there, yet Sam’s fingers were splayed as though going around something. He reached tentative fingers out in the air above his leg and gasped they touched the shaft of an arrow and Sam yelped in pain. “Shit!”

“Yeah.” Sam let his head thump into the grass and closed his eyes. “S’gonna suck.” He looked blearily up at his brother and put a hand on his arm. “Your shoulder?”

Dean shook his head. “Glancing blow, thanks to you. I’m good.” He carefully rolled his right arm to prove it, hissing with discomfort as the muscle pulled, and then bent over his brother’s leg.

“Someone else,” Sam gritted his teeth as Dean fumbled trying to get hold of the invisible arrow, “controlling it.”

“Seriously?” Dean groaned and got both hands on the arrow, feeling the brush of the fletching on the back of one hand. “Hold on.” He waited until Sam gave him a stiff nod and then snapped the end off as close to Sam’s leg as he could. Sam shouted and slapped a hand into his chest, gathering a fist-full of his leather jacket. “Ok, breathe. Halfway there.”

Sam groaned and closed his eyes as he tightened his grip. “Just…do it. Stop talkin’ ‘bout it already.”

Dean smirked and patted his shoulder. “Bossy.” He slid his hand around the back of Sam’s leg until he felt the protruding head of the arrow and wrapped his hand around it. “Ok, buddy. On three. One…two…” Dean didn’t wait and pulled, wrenching the invisible shaft from his brother’s leg. Sam shouted and then the hand fisted in Dean’s jacket loosened and fell away. “Shit. Sam?” He bent and rolled Sam to his back, and Dean blew out a breath of relief. “Trust you to pass out before we get to the car. Awesome.” He groaned and moved his right arm gingerly. He gave an involuntary shiver. If Sam hadn’t shouted when he did and made him start back, the blow would have crushed his head for sure.

He patted Sam’s chest and got to his feet. “Don’t go anywhere. I ain’t carrying your ass that far.” He ran past the Baykok and gave it a kick to make sure it was dead before going to the Impala. Dean got in and drove off the lot and onto the field out to his brother and parked beside him. He climbed back out and went around, pulling the passenger door open and then knelt beside Sam. “Alright, buddy. Up we go.”

Dean spent a minute just leaning over the roof of the car once he got Sam in the seat. Lifting his gigantor little brother hadn’t done his shoulder any favors and he was well and truly in pain now. “Crap.” He groaned and closed the door. Rather than get in, however, he went to the trunk and opened it, taking out salt and lighter fluid, then went over to the Baykok. His brows rose in the air as he realized the creature’s liver was closer to the body then when he’d left, and, as he watched, it began to move itself through the tall grass.

“Oh, that is just wrong,” he muttered, but couldn’t help watching for a moment in fascination. That definitely was going on the “there’s-something-you-don’t-see-every-day” list. Not giving it a chance to get any closer, Dean upended the salt over it, squirted lighter fluid on the wriggling organ, and then knelt next to it. He pulled out his zippo and flicked the flame to life. “Shouldn’t have screwed with my little brother, asshole.” He put the flame to the liver and grinned as it burned. He reared back onto his ass as the body of the Baykok burst into flame as well. “Shit!” He scrambled to his feet and chuckled as he watched it burn.

“Nice. Save me some work.” Dean grinned and took another step back as the flames flared higher. He glanced up and frowned. A shadow was moving low along the ground behind the Impala and vanished from sight beyond the bumper. He burst into a run, staring at Sam’s still head in the passenger seat where he lay propped against the door and still unconscious.

Dean sprinted to the car, drawing his gun from his back and rounded the front as the driver’s side door opened. “HEY!” He bellowed, and a young man popped up with wide eyes. He was no older than Sam with lanky, blonde hair and thinly built. He stared at Dean and the gun for a moment in surprise, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “Get away from the car, asshole!”

“No.” His voice was soft, and his smile grew as he raised a hand toward Dean.

“You know I’ll shoot you, right?” Dean growled and took a step closer. He gasped as he felt something grasp hold of his hand. “What the hell?” The invisible force turned the gun away and started twisting his hands. Dean looked up in shocked realization. This guy was another of the ‘special’ children…like Sam…like Max. “Son of a bitch.”

“Not so bad-ass now, are ya?” he said, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Dean growled with effort, trying to stop his hands from turning his own gun to his head. “You are really…pissin’…me off!”

“Not for long.” The man reached into his jacket with his other hand and took out his own pistol and leveled it at Dean. “You first, then him. You just had to kill my little pet.”

“No.” Dean was sweating, trying futilely to keep his gun from turning on him and snarled as the man turned his pistol toward the Impala and in to aim at Sam. “No!” Dean gasped as the pressure around his hands was suddenly released. He didn’t take time to ask. He swung the muzzle back and fired, pulling the trigger twice and watching as the man staggered and fell behind the open driver’s side door. He ran around and kicked the pistol away but he needn’t have worried; the guy was clearly dead with eyes staring sightless up at the night sky.

“Sammy?” Dean bent as he heard a soft moan and leaned in the car.

“M’alright.” Sam mumbled around his hand. He was hunched over in the seat with a hand cupped around his bleeding nose.

Dean watched drops of blood drip into his lap and nodded. He took a last look at the dead man and climbed behind the wheel. He pulled the door shut and dug a rag from the backseat, handing it to his brother. “Here. Use this.”

Sam took it and pressed it to his nose then let his head fall back. It felt like it was splitting in two. Freeing Dean to fire had cost him something. “Thanks.”

Dean watched him and started the car again. “Hold on ‘til we get to the motel.” He put a hand out and grasped his brother’s shoulder, helping to keep him upright as he started to lean weakly in the seat. “Easy.” Dean pushed down the fear that Sam had used his…gift…to save him. He knew Sam had done it once before, and, again, it had been to save Dean’s life that time as well.

Sam tried but couldn’t hide the agony that was his head. Between the blood and the pain, he was miserable, but it was worth it. He cracked his eyes and slid them over to look at Dean, alive and driving with that ‘my little brother scared me’ look on his face again. Sam smiled under the rag over his nose and closed his eyes. It was definitely worth it.

Dean got his brother out of the car and into the motel and then parked him on his bed before he knelt in front of him. “Lemme see.” Dean pulled Sam’s hand with the rag away and tipped his head back.

“Think it’s stopped,” Sam said and hissed out a breath as Dean turned his attention to his leg, pressing lightly around the wound. “Pants off, tiger.”

Dean smirked at the disgusted look on his brother’s face and went to get the first aid kit. He pulled his jacket off and then took a second to get his shirts off. “How’s this look?” He turned his back to his brother.

Sam grimaced at the wide, dark bruise on Dean’s right shoulder while he shoved his jeans down. “Like you got kicked by an elephant. How’s it feel?”

Dean came back and dropped the kit on the bed and knelt again. “Like I got kicked by an elephant,” he snorted and grabbed the antiseptic. “You want somethin’ to hold on to, princess?”

“Bite me, Dean,” Sam glared and then yelped as Dean poured it over the wound in his thigh with a grin. “Jerk!”

“Bitch,” Dean chuckled and quickly wrapped a bandage around Sam’s leg. He handed him a bottle of water and two pills when he was done. “Don’t tell me your head’s not hurting. I know what your shining does to you, so let’s skip that argument.”

Sam opened his mouth and then closed it with a sigh. He took the pills and swung his legs up onto the bed. “Better put ice on that.” He gestured to Dean’s shoulder before he let his head drop gratefully back to the pillow and dragged the blanket over himself. “Dean.” Sam waited for Dean to meet his eyes. “Thanks.”

“Go to sleep already.” Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed the ice bucket. He stopped with his hand on the door. “You know that ain’t you, Sammy. You’re not gonna turn into that…buckets of crazy.”

Sam sighed and rolled, closing his eyes. “You don’t know that, Dean.”

“Yeah, I do,” Dean said firmly as he opened the door. “You’ve got me. Try and remember that once in a while.” He smirked when Sam looked up at him. “For a guy with a college education, you can be damn stupid sometimes.”

Sam watched him leave and was surprised into laughing. He rolled again so he was facing the door and his brother’s bed and closed his eyes with a smile. Dean was right, and it made him feel a little better knowing his big brother was there to make sure he didn’t go dark side. He held on to consciousness until Dean came back in the room and let himself fall asleep finally, safe.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	27. For MissingMikey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For missingmikey - How about one set after Sam got his soul back - Bobby is still not trusting him and he ignores research Sam did for a hunt and the guys have to save him for a change. Of course, I'd expect hurt Sam, awesome Dean and guilty Bobby.
> 
> A/N: I was rather looking forward to this one. :D Definitely had fun writing and I hope it’s what you were looking for!

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam sat in Bobby’s library and listened to his voice and Dean’s in the kitchen. He sighed. The blatant distrust in Bobby’s eyes every time he looked at him was tearing him apart. Oh, he knew on a purely clinical level, thanks to Castiel, why the older Hunter distrusted him now, but he couldn’t remember trying to kill him, trying to cut out the heart of the man who passed for his father. He dropped his head into his hands and scrubbed at his eyes. Sam couldn’t even begin to figure out how to fix things between them, but he needed to. He needed to see love in Bobby’s eyes again rather than watching him pull away from even being near him.

“Shit.” Sam said softly.

“You say something, Sammy?” Dean asked as he came in and frowned when his brother jerked up and ran a hand over his face before smiling.

“No. Just, uh…wishing you’d listen to me.” Sam looked up at Bobby as he came in behind Dean and tried not to flinch at the look in his eyes. “Bobby, let us come with you. I’m right about this. I am.” Sam’s voice held a pleading tone that was laced with worry.

“For the last time, Sam. You’re not.” Bobby rolled his eyes. They’d been having this argument for two days about how to kill a Lamia that was wreaking some havoc in a small town a day away. They didn’t agree on when exactly the monthly equinox was, and that was the only time they were vulnerable. Any other time of month and they were immortal. “It’s tonight.”

“No. It’s tomorrow night.” Sam stood and grabbed the pile of his research. He held it out to Bobby, but the man waved a hand at it. Sam shook his head. “Fine, just…take Dean with you at least, Bobby. Come on.”

“I been doin’ this since before you were born. I think I can handle it, Sam. Thanks.” Bobby growled at him and turned to look at Dean. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Bobby.” Dean called as the older man stalked out of the house and threw his hands up in the air in surrender before looking over at his brother. The look on Sam’s face was eloquent of pain for just a moment before he smoothed it away again. “He’ll be fine, Sam.”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah. I just…Dean, I’m right. I know I am.”

Dean watched him hang his head as he went upstairs and groaned. “Why do I always get stuck playin’ monkey in the middle with family?”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Bobby eased down the dimly lit tunnel with the iron knife held at his side. He could hear breathing echoing in the emptiness and the occasional brush of scales over stone. She was down here; he was sure of that. She’d drained several of the townsfolk, turning their bodies out into the forest days later and had mesmerized two more into trying to kill him as soon as he found the tunnels.

“Come on, you bitch,” Bobby whispered and looked carefully around a corner. There was no sign of her in the small chamber at the end of the tunnel, but he could see a body curled on the floor. “Damn.” He checked his watch and smiled. The moon had risen an hour ago; she was vulnerable. Bobby hefted the blade and started down the hall toward the body. He knelt beside it and checked for a pulse; finding none on the poor man.

A low hiss filled the chamber and Bobby jumped to his feet and spun. The lamia slithered in behind him. Her upper body was that of a beautiful woman with long, flowing black hair around her shoulders and obscuring small breasts, and a forked tongue flicked out over ruby red lips below dark eyes. Below her breasts, her body changed to that of a serpent with six feet of tail moving sinuously across the floor as she moved.

Bobby adjusted his grip on the knife and charged before she had time to register the move. He knocked her arm aside and drove the blade into her chest. Bobby grunted as her tail whipped around while she screamed and knocked him across the room. He hit the wall and slid to the floor, shook his head, and looked up, staring as he suddenly got a very bad feeling.

“Too…bad…human,” The lamia’s voice hissed as she pulled the iron blade from her breast and tossed it aside with a clatter.

Bobby watched her nearing and knew with sudden clarity that Sam had been right, and if he’d had brain one in his fool head, he would have listened. When it came to research, the kid was rarely, if ever, wrong. “Balls.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam paced in the kitchen and tried Bobby’s phone again. He’d been up all night worried about him. He knew he was right no matter how many times Bobby had tried to convince him he was wrong. He was going after the lamia on the wrong night, and now he couldn’t get the man to answer his phone.

“Sam?” Dean came into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes and then narrowed them. “How come you got my phone?”

Sam tossed it to him and leaned against the counter. “Figured there was a better chance of him answering yours than mine.”

“Dude.” Dean slipped his phone into his pocket and looked at his watch. “He’s not answering?”

“No.” Sam stood up again. “Dean, we have to go after him. Please. I know I’m right about the date, and if I am, then he’s in trouble.”

“Alright.” Dean waved an arm out the door. “Go get our crap and let’s shag ass.” He rolled his eyes as Sam went past at a run and clapped him on the shoulder. In truth, he was worried as well. Bobby had been…less than clear-headed lately when it came to Sam, and it looked like this time it was going to bite him in the ass. He closed his eyes. He only hoped Bobby would live to learn from it. “Move it, Sam!”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean climbed down the hillside, sliding the last few feet to the bottom and looked over as Sam came to rest beside him. “You sure the entrance is here?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. It’s on Bobby’s map of the area.” He took out a flashlight and an iron blade. “Remember, we can’t actually kill her until tomorrow night, so just…get away if you find her.”

“Can’t kill her but I can hurt her.” Dean grinned and hefted his own blade. “She’s done anything to Bobby, and I’m gonna make sure she knows that.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get stupid.” Sam told him and smiled. “And don’t get bit. Paralytic poison, and we already know she likes to drink.” He shone his light at the base of the hill and nodded. “There’s the entrance.”

“Let’s go.” Dean led the way and flicked on his own light.

“You’d think she’d be wait…” Sam grunted as something slammed into his back and took him to the ground face first.

“Sam!” Dean spun and snarled at the man plastered to his brother’s back with an arm around his neck, and then had to duck as a second man ran from the tunnel entrance and came at him with a knife.

Sam managed to turn and slammed his elbow back into his attacker’s face with a satisfying crunch. The arm around his throat loosened and he rolled clear. He swept the man’s legs when he tried to stand and landed a heavy punch to the side of his head. The man slumped sideways unconscious, and Sam let him fall, turning to his brother. “Dean?”

Dean landed a kick in the gut of his attacker, doubling him over and then slammed the hilt of his knife into the back of his head and knocked him cold to the ground. “Son of a bitch.” He wiped blood from his mouth and looked over at Sam. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded and bent to look at the man he’d taken down. He pulled back an eyelid and sighed. “Mesmerized.” The eye was bloodshot and the pupil blown wide. As he watched the iris reappeared and the blood drew away out of sight. “Recent too. That’s good.”

“How is that good?” Dean went over to the tunnel and aimed his light inside.

Sam went to the other man and checked, finding the same. “Takes a lot of power to do this. They’ll be fine when they wake up.” Sam glanced up and smiled. “She won’t have the energy to do this again for a few days probably.” He rose and then knelt back down. “Oh, no.”

“What?” Dean watched Sam rise to his feet and hold out another iron knife.

“This is Bobby’s. She has him,” Sam said it softly and slid the knife into his belt. “We have to hurry. He won’t last more than a day or two with her feeding on him.”

“We’ll find him.” Dean growled and started into the tunnel. His tone of voice said clearly that he wouldn’t allow it to be any other way.

They followed the tunnel in, senses alert for any untoward sound, and soon reached a point where it split in two branches. Sam nodded to the left and started off.

“Don’t get dead,” Dean hissed and went right. He’d be lying if he said splitting up didn’t make him nervous. Sam was a hell of a Hunter, but they’d already lost Bobby down here. He didn’t want to add Sam to the list. He swallowed his nerves and kept moving, trusting in Sam to take care of himself.

Sam eased down the tunnel and hastily clicked off his flashlight when he saw footprints and a wide trail that had to be from the lamia in the dust on the floor. He backed into a small alcove and peered around a corner. At the end of the dimly lit hall was a small chamber, and a body lay on the floor in the center. Sam swallowed and moved softly into the hall and into the room. He turned his light back on and sucked in a breath realizing the body was Bobby’s.

“No,” Sam breathed and dropped to his knees. He took the man’s shoulder and rolled him over to his back. “Bobby?” He gasped as Bobby’s eyes flew open to reveal the bloodshot eyes and blown pupils of a mesmerized man. The older Hunter reared up, closing his hands around Sam’s throat and took him to the floor.

“Gah! Bobby!” Sam grunted and gasped as Bobby’s weight settled on his throat, but there was no one home in his eyes. Sam let the iron blade clatter to the floor and drove his fist up into Bobby’s face instead with a silent apology. The older Hunter’s head rocked back, and Sam hit him again, knocking Bobby off onto the floor in an unconscious heap. Sam rolled to his side and gasped for air with a hand over his neck. He coughed around the sadly familiar feeling of being strangled and got to his knees. “Bobby?” His voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. He coughed trying to clear it and crawled over to him.

A low hiss suddenly filled the room. Sam rolled to his side and found the lamia bending over him. A powerful hand took him by the shoulder and pulled him up until just his toes were brushing the floor and she held him in front of her face. Her other arm closed around him and pulled him into her chest with a crushing hold that squeezed the breath out of him. He watched her open her mouth, forked tongue flicking out to taste the side of his face and then she bent to his other shoulder. Sam tried to get his free arm between them to Bobby’s knife but she held him too close and he let out a strangled cry as her teeth tore into his right shoulder. Pain burned through him and then numbness came behind it as his eyes rolled back and he passed out.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Bobby groaned and rolled to his back. “Balls.” He breathed and raised a hand to his aching head. His face felt like someone had slammed him into a wall. He blinked his eyes open and stared at a dim light high above. He pushed up onto his elbows and jerked aside at a low moan. “What?” He pushed up and froze as his feet knocked against a broad back. “Hello?” Bobby bent over him and took hold of the man’s shoulder, rolling him to his back and fear squeezed his heart. “Sam? Oh, no, no, no. Dammit, kid.”

He rolled Sam up into his lap and hissed in a breath as he felt the blood on his right shoulder. Bobby pulled the shoulder of Sam’s jacket aside and groaned; the lamia had been feeding. “Sam?” Guilt welled up to choke him as he used Sam’s own shirt to press into the wounds and stop the bleeding. “Should’a listened to you. What the hell are you even doin’ here?”

The last thing Bobby remembered was the lamia grabbing him and staring into his eyes. He shook his head and wished his face didn’t ache. He looked back down at Sam and sighed. “I’m sorry, son.” Bobby pulled him closer, letting his head roll into his chest and suffered for him. “I’m a stupid old man,” He whispered and knew Sam was here because of him…for him. The boy had thrown himself in harm’s way to save a foolish old Hunter who’d ignored his research.

“I know it…it wasn’t you. I know that.” Bobby spoke softly, hoping the sound of his voice might pull Sam back. “I can’t help that I still see your face, son, standin’ over me with that damn knife ready to…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Sam, you gotta wake up and tell me what an idiot I am.” He glanced up at the hole above them and back down with a rueful smile. “Preferably before that brother of yours finds us and blames me for you bleedin’ all over the place.” Bobby sighed. “And he’d be right. C’mon, son. Gimme somethin’ here.”

Sam moaned softly as if hearing him and trying to obey.

“Sam? That’s it. Wake up.” Bobby propped his head up a little higher against his chest and brushed the hair out of Sam’s eyes. “Sam.” He said it firmly and smiled with relief when Sam’s eyes fluttered slowly open to look up at him. “’Bout time you decided nap time was over, idjit.”

Sam stared, confused for a moment and then memory came and with it the pain in his shoulder. “Shit.” He gasped and tried to curl instinctively around the pain but Bobby held him firmly, pressing down over the wounds.

“Easy, son. Easy.” Bobby shook his head. “Don’t know why she didn’t take a bite outta me instead.”

“Mes…mesmerized you,” Sam told him and coughed, raising his left hand to his throat that felt too thick and tight and ached. He squinted up at Bobby and the bruises on the left side of his face. “Sorry…had to.”

“Had to what?” Bobby raised a hand to his face and then pulled Sam’s hand away to look at the kid’s neck and swallowed hard. Sam had clearly been strangled, and he had a sinking feeling he knew whose handprints those were bruising in a ring around his neck. “Aw, hell, son.”

Sam shook his head and closed his eyes, coughing again. “S’okay. Wasn’ you.” He felt like he was floating suddenly and wondered just how much the lamia had drained from him before dropping them down here. “S’oubliette.”

“Huh?” Bobby frowned and then looked around with a nod of understand. “Right. Yeah.” He snorted. “Little place of forgetting. Sam.” Bobby made sure the boy was looking at him. “I’m sorry. You were right. I should’a listened.”

Sam got a shaking hand up and fisted in the front of Bobby’s jacket. “Told you…not your fault an’…I wouldn’t have…trusted me either. I’m sorry, Bobby…so sorry.”

“You’re…Dammit, son.” Bobby shook his head and pulled Sam closer as his eyes fell closed again. “Stop apologizin’ already.” He looked back up at the hole. “We gotta get you outta here.”

“Phone…back pocket.” Sam really wanted to get the hell up and help but getting his arm up had been all the energy he had. The lamia’s poison was still working through his system and sapping his strength.

Bobby nodded and rolled his eyes as he fumbled around behind Sam until he got his phone out of his pocket. “Sorry.” He looked down and saw the amused smirk on Sam’s face. “Shut it, you.” He flipped Sam’s phone open and sighed. “No signal.”

“Alarm.” Sam convinced his left hand to let go of Bobby’s jacket and tried to reach for his phone, but his arm refused to cooperate and dropped to the rocky ground instead.

“What about it?” Bobby frowned and tried not to show how worried he was that Sam was still this uncoordinated.

Sam took a breath and forced his thoughts together. “Set th’alarm. Toss it up.” He nodded up to the hole above them. “Dean…hear it.”

“Homing beacon.” Bobby sighed and smiled down at him. “Yeah, I get it. Pretty damn smart, Sam.” It only served to remind him that this was all his fault.

Sam floated between waking and sleeping, cringing each time he approached wakefulness and felt the pain in his shoulder and the tight feeling in his throat that seemed to make every breath catch. He heard someone wheezing and someone else speaking over an insistent, annoying muffled beeping and finally opened his eyes to find Bobby leaned over him.

“Geez, Sam. Come on.” Bobby sighed in relief when Sam’s eyes opened again. He had the kid’s head tilted back on his elbow trying to keep his airway open. It was obvious his abused throat was swelling and Sam’s short breaths were turning into short gasps that punched at his heart with every breath he struggled for. “Sam?”

Sam managed a nod and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt…wrong. “Bo…Bobby.”

“Right here, kid.” Bobby looked up to where the alarm on Sam’s phone was shrilling away and silently willed Dean to hurry the hell up.

“Venom.” Sam struggled to get the word out and he knew he was right. It wasn’t just the burning in his shoulder anymore. It was a tightening across his chest that seemed to be slowly squeezing his lungs.

Bobby frowned and pulled Sam’s jacket and shirts up from his shoulder to have a look. It was hard to see in the faint light, but he could make out dark lines spreading from the bite wounds and growled. “Balls. Sam, this…it’s gonna be ok. You hear me?” He patted his jacket back in place and waited for Sam’s eyes to roll up and meet his. “No big deal. You just keep breathin’, son. Keep breathin’.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah…yes, sir.”

“Sam?”

Bobby’s head jerked up at the sound of Dean’s voice from above. “Dean! Down here! Hurry!”

“Bobby? What’s…” Dean’s voice broke off suddenly and there was the sound of a scuffle, then a loud hiss. “Shit!”

“Dean!” Bobby yelled and wished he could get up there to help. He tightened his grip on Sam as he twitched in his arms.

“Dean?” Sam opened his eyes again and knew he’d heard his brother’s voice. “Wha…”

“Hang on, son.” Bobby reassured him as the sound of a pitched fight filtered down from above. Sam’s cell came tumbling over the side and broke into pieces when it hit the floor. “Dean! What’s happenin’ up there?”

“Little…busy!” Dean’s voice shouted back.

Bobby heard the lamia scream angrily and then again more loudly, and then her voice trailed off in a strange, gurgling cry. “Dean, dammit!”

Dean’s head appeared in the hole, blocking most of the light. “Figured someone your age would have more patience, Bobby.” Dean grinned down and shone his flashlight into the hole. He sucked in a breath when he saw his brother held in Bobby’s arms and fear swept through him. “Sammy?”

“We gotta get him outta here. Lamia took a chunk out of him. He’s loaded with venom.” Bobby called up. “You got a rope?”

“Uh…hang on.” Dean’s head vanished along with the light.

Bobby turned his attention back to Sam and didn’t like the way he was sucking in breaths with his mouth open, like he was trying to catch any air he could. “Keep breathin’, Sam. In and out.” He put a hand over his chest and felt the stuttering movement and his pounding heart. He blinked furiously against emotion when Sam got his left hand up again and wrapped it trustingly around Bobby’s wrist. “Easy, Sam. I’ve gotcha.”

A few minutes later, Bobby looked up as he heard footsteps from above over the lamia’s odd hiss. “Dean?” In answer, Dean’s head appeared in the hole again.

“Ok. Got something.” Dean unfurled his makeshift rope, letting it drop down into the oubliette and grinned as he aimed his flashlight in again. “Found her uh…larder.” He shuddered and wondered if the smell of all those bodies decaying would ever leave his nose.

Bobby snorted as he realized what the ‘rope’ was; a dozen or so belts attached end to end. “Alright, Sam. Gotta move ya.” He eased the boy up so he was sitting and stood, looking up to the concern plain on his brother’s face. “Ain’t gonna be easy, Dean. You’re gonna have to pull him up.”

Dean looked over his shoulder with a dark glare and then back down. “Get it around him.”

Bobby grunted, pulling Sam’s dead weight up with him. “Get it around him, he says.” He snorted. “Like you don’t weigh as much as my damn truck.”

“N…don’t.” Sam managed and even pulled off a smirk, making Bobby chuckle.

“You be quiet.” Bobby rolled his eyes and spent several frustrating minutes getting the belt rope looped around Sam’s chest. “Can you hold on to this?”

Sam nodded once and got his left hand around the belt in front of him. “’Kay.”

“Right, Dean! Pull him up!” Bobby bent and wrapped his arms around Sam’s knees. He lifted while Dean pulled and cursed above them.

“Sam…not feeding…you…ever again…crap!” Dean strained with his brother’s weight and listened nervously to the sound of the leather belts stretching. Finally Sam’s head appeared and Dean pulled until he had his shoulders. He reached out with one hand and grabbed hold of his brother’s left arm at the wrist before letting the belt rope go. “Shit!” He lurched forward and got a better grip and dragged his brother out of the hole and onto the floor.

Sam was gasping weakly for each breath but smiled as Dean leaned over him. “H…hey.”

“Damn, Sammy.” Dean took in the ring of livid bruising on his neck and his bloody right shoulder. “Bitch did a number on you.”

Sam closed his eyes and then jumped when he heard the lamia’s hiss. “Dean!”

“Easy!” Dean squeezed his shoulder and took his brother’s chin, turning his head slightly. “She’s a little hung up right now.”

Sam opened his eyes again while Dean chuckled and stared in surprise. The lamia was pinned to the wall ten or so feet away with various knives through her shoulders and neck and what looked like a length of pipe through her stomach. “N-nice.”

“Can’t kill her ass for another…” Dean glanced at his watch. “…eleven hours, but I can damn well make her enjoy every one of ‘em. You hang on while I get Bobby out.” He untied the belts from his brother’s chest and groaned. “This is gonna suck.”

“I can hear you.” Bobby yelled up and growled when he heard Dean laugh. “You wanna make fat jokes, I _will_ kick your ass when I get up there.”

Dean snorted and tossed the belt rope back down the hole. “Tryin’ to give me a reason to leave you down there?” He grunted as Bobby’s weight pulled at his arms and planted his feet to hoist the older man up.

Sam rolled his head back to see Dean. His breath was starting to clog in his throat and panic wasn’t helping. He inched his left arm across the floor of the tunnel until it bumped his brother’s hip. “Dea…”

“Sammy?” Dean looked over as he took Bobby’s outstretched arm and his eyes widened. His brother’s voice was barely above a whisper, his face white and fear was written all over it as he barely gasped in a breath. “Shit!” Dean heaved Bobby up out of the hole and then scrambled to Sam’s side and pulled him up. “Hey, hey! Come on. Breathe.”

“We gotta clean out those wounds with holy water.” Bobby glared up at the lamia and gave her snarling face a grim smile. “Like your wall décor, Dean.”

Dean gave a hard smile and rose to his feet, bringing his brother with him. He turned to look at the creature over Sam’s head. “I’m comin’ back for you in eleven hours, and I’m gonna enjoy carvin’ out your heart.” His voice was low and dangerous, and the lamia seemed to sense his rage. Her eyes widened and a hiss died in her throat. She didn’t make another sound as Dean and Bobby carried Sam away and out of the tunnels.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam woke with a start. “Dean!”

“Easy, Sam! Take it easy!” Bobby grabbed his good shoulder and pushed him back into the bed.

“B…Bobby?” Sam stared up at him in confusion and put a hand to his aching throat.

“Dean killed the lamia. Should be back any time now.” He patted Sam’s shoulder and smiled. “Before you start worryin’, I talked to him five minutes ago. He’s good. She never did get down off that wall, so just lay back already.”

Sam slumped back into the bed and groaned softly. “M’I ok?” He had a hazy memory of hot lava being poured into his shoulder and screaming and it took him a moment to remember that it had been holy water, not lava, as they’d purified his wounds.

“Yeah, son. You’re fine.” Bobby took a bottle of water from the bedside table and lifted Sam’s head gently. “Here.”

Sam sipped gratefully and watched Bobby’s eyes until he leaned back and took the bottle away. “We…we ok?” He hadn’t seen the older Hunter flinch yet since he’d woken in the oubliette and he realized he was still waiting for it, bracing himself.

Bobby’s eyes softened as he watched the tension slide onto Sam’s face, that same kicked-puppy look he’d been pretending not to see for weeks, and his heart broke. “Son…I’m…” He nodded finally and brushed Sam’s hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, Sam. We’re ok.”

Sam closed his eyes on a sigh and smiled. “Thanks, Bobby.”

“How ‘bout you stop talkin’ and give that throat of yours a rest?” Bobby rolled his eyes, and if he had to wipe his eyes, it was certainly allergies and not some ridiculous emotional girly crap. He sniffed and cleared his throat hastily when the door opened and Dean came in.

“Hey,” Dean said softly with a look to his brother. “He sleeping?”

“Mostly.” Bobby rose and smirked as Dean slid into his vacated spot and dropped a gentle hand to his brother’s bruised neck. “He’s breathin’ better.”

Dean looked up at Bobby for a moment, taking in his facial expression and looked back to Sam in an effort to hide his smirk. “’Bout time you were done kickin’ him.” He tugged the blanket up higher on his brother’s chest and stood, walking past Bobby where he gaped. “Got beer.”

Bobby shook his head at the satisfied look on Dean’s face as he dropped into a chair and turned on the tv low, grabbing a beer out of the bag on the table. He went behind him, took his own beer and cuffed the elder Winchester up the back of the head. “Start kickin’ you in a minute. Find the damn game already.” He turned his own chair so that, like Dean, he had a view of Sam and raised a brow, daring Dean to call him out on it. He wisely didn’t. “Idjits.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	28. For ruby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For ruby - I'd like for Sam to put the legal skills he learned at Stanford to good use. Maybe he has to go undercover as a lawyer or something like that and I want Dean to come to the realization that Sammy would have been a great lawyer. Cue in proud big brother and awesome Sammy:)what if after Sam wins the case, the bad guy gets sentenced then he gets all crazy, takes out a gun and shoots Sam right there in the courtroom.
> 
> A/N: First, set in season 2 oh…anywhere, somewhere in the middle maybe, after 2x12 “Nightshifter”. :P Second, I’ve glossed over the legal stuff because…not a lawyer and the occasional Law and Order: Criminal Intent or CSI marathon doesn’t quite bring my legal knowledge up to snuff. LOL Hope you enjoy it all the same!

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

**Dean sat in the back of the courtroom and decided this was definitely one of the screwier jobs they’d taken. Hunting a shifter was enough of a pain in the ass, but this jackass had gone and gotten himself arrested and now here they were -- Dean sitting in the back, a prosecutor at one table in front of the judge and Sam at the other standing beside the shifter and masquerading as his lawyer all so they could get the thing off and gank it once they did. He snorted softly and grinned at the elderly woman who turned to give him a dirty look.**

**It was humbling however, seeing his little brother like this. Dean suddenly began to imagine the kind of future Sam would have had if he’d never come for him…if the demon hadn’t burned Jess in front of him. He sighed and tried to pay attention again. Sam was rattling off legalese like a pro and he knew it. Dean could see the confident set of his shoulders as he stood beside his client, shifter or not, and defended him to the judge. He could tell the prosecutor was beginning to get nervous. He’d started sweating a little while ago and kept sending irritated looks over at Sam while the judge looked on him with growing respect. Sam was going to win this. Dean smiled.**

**“Court is adjourned for lunch for one hour.” The judge banged his gavel and stood. “Counselors.”**

**Dean waited for Sam to make his way back to him and followed him out into the corridor. “You’re kickin’ some ass in there, Sammy. Color me impressed.”**

**Sam actually blushed lightly with the praise. “Never thought I’d be standing in a courtroom.”**

**Dean slapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. I’m starvin’.”**

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam sat back from the sandwich he’d only managed half of with his twisting stomach and sighed. “I think Barry knows something’s off.”

Dean snorted. “Hard to take a creature seriously when you know last week Barry was Gretel the hot blonde.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, well, that aside, he was giving me a funny look in court right before recess.” He shrugged his shoulders in the suit. “Maybe he did get a look at me that night.”

“No way, man,” Dean shook his head. “I knocked him on his ass, and then the cops showed up and nabbed him before you got there.”

Sam nodded. “Alright.” They had chased him into the sewers and back out again. Dean had sent Sam around to cut him off on the narrow city streets and by the time he’d found his brother, Dean was watching as a police cruiser pulled away with their prey. “I don’t understand why he doesn’t just shift into one of the guards or something and get himself out. Why’s he bothering with the whole court thing?”

“Maybe he likes listening to you wax all poetic about his better character?” Dean teased. “Ow!” He jumped when Sam kicked him under the table and laughed. “I’m kidding. I don’t know. Maybe he’s getting off on it.”

“This is one screwy case.” Sam checked his watched. “We should get back. Ten minutes left.” He rolled his eyes. “I have to be there when my client comes in.”

Dean chuckled and got up, following him out. “I’m gonna enjoy ganking this thing once you get him out. Should have been over and done with this job two days ago.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam watched Barry walk into the court room ahead of the bailiff and couldn’t suppress the feeling that the shifter knew he was looking at a Hunter when he looked at Sam. He smiled at Barry anyway when he reached the table and sat and then at the bailiff and motioned Barry back to his feet when the judge arrived.

Dean took his seat in the back of the courtroom once everyone was settled and watched Sam go to work again. He smiled with pride as his little brother systematically took apart the prosecutor’s case and showed off that massive brain Dean was always teasing him for. Hell, he couldn’t follow half the jargon coming out of his brother’s mouth, but he could read people; the prosecutor knew he was screwed and so did the judge. Through it all, Barry sat silently at Sam’s side and occasionally glanced over at his little brother with a half-smile that, after a couple hours watching, made something twist in Dean’s gut. He was beginning to think Sam might be right and the shifter had seen him.

“Shit,” Dean whispered and tried to think how he could get them both out of there and gank the shifter at the same time without getting nailed in a damn courtroom if he had to. He tuned back in to the proceedings as it sounded like it was wrapping up. Sure enough, the judge quickly tossed out the prosecutor’s case and apologized to Barry for wasting his time. He stood when the rest of the court did as the judge left and watched the round of handshakes up front as people filed past him and out of the room.

Dean pushed his way out into the aisle and felt a sudden, powerful need to get to his brother. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, trying to move against the flow of people and breathed a sigh of relief when the last spectators left the courtroom. He looked up and watched Sam talking to the prosecutor while Barry shook hands with the bailiff. It all seemed to happen in slow motion as Barry slammed a hand into the bailiff’s throat, grabbed his gun, turned and fired twice. One round took the prosecutor in the head while the second hit Sam high in the shoulder and took him to his knees.

“NO!” Dean shouted and ran for him.

Barry was a step faster, leaping the table in a feat of strength and wrapped himself around Sam from behind with an arm wedged against his neck and the barrel of the gun pressed to his temple. “Stop!”

Dean skidded to a halt and took stock of the room. The prosecutor was definitely dead, the bailiff was on the floor, scrabbling at his throat with panicked eyes and soon to be dead; and while people screamed in the hall outside, they were alone in the courtroom for the moment. Dean reached to his back and growled in frustration; the metal detectors had forced him to leave his weapons outside in the car.

“Get the hell off him.” Dean warned in a low voice and took another step forward. “Sam?”

Sam managed a nod. He had his teeth gritted against the burning pain in his shoulder and the pressure on his throat.

“You kill him. I kill you.” Dean promised and met Barry’s eyes steadily. “I know what you are.”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Well, of course you do. I’d worry about a Hunter who didn’t know a shapeshifter when they found one. Back off, Dean. Really.” He tightened his arm around Sam’s throat until the young man gagged and gasped, smiling when Dean stopped again.

“What the hell’s wrong with you anyway?” Dean yelled. “What kind of shifter sits around for a damn week going to court? You could’a got out of here anytime you wanted!”

Barry laughed. “Are you kidding? The chance to screw with two Hunters like the friggin’ Winchesters? How could I resist?” He dragged Sam’s head back and shoved the barrel of the gun up under his chin until Sam gasped as Dean took two steps forward again angrily. “Keep coming, big brother and he dies right here.”

“You’re gonna kill him anyway.” Dean said surely and saw his brother’s barely perceptible nod. It chilled him to the bone that the shifter had played them both this easily. He grimaced at Sam’s groan of pain.

“Not necessarily.” Barry shook his head and shrugged. “It’s possible he walks out of here. It’s possible you both do. We’re just having a nice conversation right now.” He grinned as he felt Sam weigh heavier under his arm. “Although, Sam doesn’t seem to be doing so well. Nice job with my defense, by the way. That was impressive, man. Seriously. I was moved.”

“Go to hell,” Sam ground out between his teeth.

“Probably.” Barry agreed cheerfully. “If I was human.” He chuckled. “See, I could have killed you.” He moved a hand and dug his fingers into the bleeding wound until Sam cried out.

“Leave him alone!” Dean bellowed it and shook with the need to get his brother away from the sick bastard.

“I’m a pretty good shot. I didn’t miss.” Barry took his fingers out of Sam’s wound and flicked drops of blood onto Dean’s legs with a smirk. “Consider this my payment for putting up such an expert defense.”

“Gee…thanks.” Sam snarled it, as angry as he was in pain. He looked up and met his brother’s eyes, then glanced over to the table, his briefcase and the papers laid out. He looked back up at Dean and raised a brow.

Dean flicked his gaze to the table, for a moment not comprehending what Sam was trying to tell him and then he saw it; a letter opener on top of the papers…a silver letter opener. He made a mental note to buy his little brother a beer for thinking ahead and getting a weapon past security. “So, what happens now, Barry?” He looked back at the shifter. “You’re not walkin’ outta here with Sam.”

Barry tightened his arm around Sam’s neck. “Time to get up, Winchester.”

Sam groaned and forced his legs to cooperate so Barry’s arm didn’t completely cut off his air as the shifter stood behind him and pulled. He was gasping by the time he was standing and wrapped his right hand around his left shoulder to try and brace the wound.

Dean took a step to his right while Barry was getting Sam where he wanted him. He flicked a glance behind him to the doors to the courtroom where the screaming had stopped and he could now hear the steady squawk of police radios. Their time was running out before the cops burst in and got his brother killed. “I promise you get to walk away if you just let him go now, Barry.”

Barry snorted with disbelief. “You think I don’t know how this works?” He rolled his eyes and tightened his arm around Sam’s throat with his superhuman strength until the man was choking and trembling with the lack of oxygen. “I hurt your little brother. I’m well aware that he’s my only shot of getting out alive right now.” He loosened his grip marginally and let Sam gasp in air.

Sam met Dean’s eyes again while he sucked in air and raised a brow. Dean gave him a minute shake of his head and Sam rolled his eyes. He was done being a hostage and had complete faith in his big brother. Sam dropped his full weight on Barry’s arm without warning and wrapped his good hand around the gun, shoving it away from his head and toward the ceiling.

“Crap!” Dean watched Sam pull the shifter off balance and drop. The gun went off and knocked chips out of the ceiling as Sam took him down with him and left the shifter’s back exposed. Dean jumped to the table and swept the letter opener before turning and driving it down into Barry’s back over his heart. The shifter screamed and toppled off Sam’s back to the floor as the gun spun away.

“Sammy?” Dean grabbed his brother and rolled him up into his arms as officers burst into the court room.

“I’m ok.” Sam assured him hurriedly even as the room spun dizzily. He was vaguely aware of raised voices and then hands tried to pry him away from his brother. Sam fought them.

“Sam. Sammy!” Dean snarled at the medics. “Back the hell off! I’ve got him!” He glared until they did as he said and Sam settled. Dean rolled his head up so he could see his face. “Come on, buddy. You gotta wake up.” He leaned down so only Sam would hear him. “You don’t wake up and walk outta here they’re gonna drag your ass to a hospital.” Yeah, Sam was shot and hurt and bloody, but Dean had already ascertained that it was nothing beyond their skills, and the last thing they needed was to be caught in the middle of the investigation this shooting was going to start.

Sam jerked his head up and fought to open his eyes. “No…no way.” He took hold of his brother’s arm and looked blearily around at the small army of people in the courtroom. Time in the hospital with cops asking questions put Dean at risk of being recognized from the numerous wanted posters out there. He couldn’t risk that. “Ge’ me up.”

“Sir, if you’ll let us take him, we can…”

Dean glared the medic into silence. “He’s fine. I got him.”

“I’m…ok.” Sam managed a shaky smile as Dean pulled him up and steadied him. “S’a graze. He’ll take me.”

“I’m drivin’ him.” Dean used the force of his glare to move everyone out of their path as he headed for the door. “Ambulances are notoriously unsafe you know.” He gave a smirk as Sam chuckled and missed a step. “Stay on your feet, kiddo. Couple more minutes.”

Sam nodded and got his head back up. He coughed and tried to clear his throat. “Think I…earned ice cream.”

“What?” Dean rolled his eyes as they reached the stairs and the spectators thinned. “Dude, are you five?”

Sam chuckled and leaned heavier on him once they stepped out into the parking lot. “Neck hurts.”

“That’s ‘cause you’ve got a damn sign that says ‘squeeze here’, dude.” Dean rolled his eyes and opened the passenger door of the Impala, poured Sam inside and closed it, then leaned on the roof for a moment. He took a deep breath and settled his nerves before going around and getting in behind the wheel. The sight of Sam being choked nearly unconscious with a bullet in his shoulder and a gun against his head had left him more shaken than he wanted to admit. No matter how much danger they faced on an almost daily basis, he would NEVER get used to seeing his brother hurt and in that kind of danger. The fact that he had been unarmed and unable to DO anything about it just made it worse.

“Yes, you can have ice cream, bitch.” Dean snorted and pulled away from the courthouse, leaving all the emergency vehicles behind.

Sam eased back in the seat and wrapped his hand under the bullet wound. He glanced over at Dean and rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna enjoy digging this bullet out, aren’t you?”

“Oh, hell, yeah.” Dean nodded firmly and grinned. “Your punishment for goin’ all Rambo in there and giving me a damn heart attack.”

Sam smiled and let his head fall to the seat wearily, eyes closed. “Knew you had my back. I wasn’t worried.”

Dean gaped over at him and then rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Remind me to kick your ass later when you can actually put up a fight.” He reached over the back seat and brought up a rag, tossing it in Sam’s lap. “Don’t bleed on my baby.” He smiled at his little brother’s long-suffering look and put his eyes on the road; satisfied there was one less shifter in the world. He glanced back at him as Sam coughed. “You know…you would’a made an awesome lawyer.”

Sam looked over at him, surprised and then smiled sadly as he closed his eyes again. “Thanks, Dean.” His brother’s words meant more than he would have expected, but at the same time were a bittersweet reminder of what could have been. “It felt good,” he added a bit wistfully.

“Make a better Hunter, though.” Dean said and cleared his throat. “When you’re not being used for target practice.” He chuckled as the bloody rag hit him in the side of the head and tossed it back.

“Jerk.” Sam said fondly and pressed the rag back to his wound while the praise warmed him. He still mourned the loss of the life he’d almost had, but…this was the life he knew. And if he couldn’t have his brother beside him, then it wasn’t a life he wanted; not anymore. He smiled. “Don’t forget my ice cream.”

“Do they have bitch flavored ice cream?” Dean asked with a broad grin. “’Cause that’s what you should get. Two scoops.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	29. For Hinfallend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Hinfallend - After watching episode 8x15, I'd really like to see Sam and Dean having flashbacks. Both of them waking up from nightmares, or something triggering a hell flashback for both of them at the same time, and they get stuck in their heads so they can't help each other through the memories. And could Kevin be thrown in there somehow? Maybe it be told from his point of view?
> 
> A/N: I’m not entirely sure I have Kevin’s voice in my head yet but I did my best here. :D

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Kevin looked up from the tablet and squeezed his eyes closed, rubbing the palms of his hands into them. Sometimes it felt like his brain was going to melt out through his eye balls. He groaned softly and then froze. Time routinely got away from him when he was translating and sometimes he would lose track of it; think that something happened weeks ago that actually happened days ago. He had a feeling like that now…he’d forgotten something. He dropped his hands from his eyes and looked up, eyes widening in surprise.

“Oh, right.” Kevin looked over and saw Dean stretched out in a chair with his legs up on a table, head back against a wall, snoring softly. Across from him, Sam sat on the other side of the table, slumped over using his arms for a pillow and equally asleep. He looked at the two Hunters and remembered they had come in with supplies. He frowned, quiet sure Sam had asked him something about the tablet, and then he’d gone back to it and…

“Wonder how long ago that was,” Kevin muttered and stood up, stretching and listening to his joints crack and pop. He grabbed the bottle of aspirin and shook several out into his hand, dry-swallowing them before washing them down with a swallow of coffee gone far too cold.

“Yech.” Kevin grimaced and went to the coffee maker. He stared at it and willed the pot not to be as empty as it was. “I need a coffee fairy.” He wondered how long it had been since his mom had been there. She would have made him coffee. He snorted as he filled the pot. She also would have made him eat and sleep in an actual bed instead of hunched over the tablet. Kevin hit the power button and couldn’t stop from leaning over and putting his nose near the mouth of the pot to breathe deeply, inhaling the scent of the brewing coffee as the first few drops trickled out. “Must brew faster.”

He straightened with a groan and looked back at the brothers. Dean had spun some ridiculous yarn when they arrived about a dog who was a woman and apparently very hot and then there’d been some bestiality jokes that Kevin decided he wasn’t going to even try to remember. He shook his head. He had too much crap in his head already and not enough room. Something else had happened too, though neither man had wanted to discuss it, but he got the impression it had upset them both. Kevin went to his wall where he was mapping out the things he learned. A soft moan drew his eyes back and he watched as Dean twitched in his sleep.

“Dean?” Kevin enjoyed the quiet and didn’t necessarily want the man up and telling tall tales again, and Dean awake had a way of filling a room with a kind of constant, buzzing energy that Kevin found vaguely unsettling, especially after so many hours of quiet isolation, but he knew how much nightmares sucked. He went over and held a hand over Dean’s shoulder, leery of touching him in his sleep. He was a Hunter, and Kevin knew Dean’s reflexes could accidentally kill him without even realizing. Kevin nodded and turned away. He searched around the shelves until he found the old yardstick Garth had brought his mom. She’d making ridiculous plans to decorate or some crap. Kevin smirked and rolled his eyes. She actually wanted to put curtains up on the stupid barge.

He went back to Dean and stood at a safe distance as he started to jerk in the grip of his nightmare. Kevin poked Dean’s hip with the yard stick. “Dean. Wake up.” He looked over in surprise as Sam suddenly gave a moan of his own, and Kevin could hear his breathing picking up in distress. “What the crap?” He leaned over the table and tapped the back of Sam’s shaggy head with the yardstick. Nothing happened.

Kevin groaned. “Aw, come on, guys! I’ve got work to do, you know?” He gave Dean a solid poke in the ribs as the older man’s head rolled. “I so do not have time for this. Dammit.” Kevin tossed the yardstick on the table and went to his desk. He hunted through the piles of papers until he found his phone and hit the speed dial.

“Garth. Sam and Dean are here and they won’t wake up.” Kevin listened to the other Hunter and rolled his eyes. “How am I supposed to know? I was translating. I don’t know. They’re having nightmares or something….yes, both of them. Again…how do I know this?” He sighed and nodded. “Fine. But if one of them kills me, I will haunt you.” He flipped the phone closed and went to the sink. He filled an empty cup with the coldest water he could manage and went back to the table.

“This is a very bad idea.” Kevin looked between the two men, both moaning and twitching in whatever nightmares they were caught in and decided Sam was least likely to tear his head off. He held the cup over Sam’s head and poured the water down on his face. Sam twitched, sputtered, and then erupted up out of his chair with a shout like he was spring-loaded. Kevin suddenly found himself lying on the floor with one very pissed off, dripping Winchester sitting on his chest and a fist aimed at his face. “Sam!”

Sam froze and looked down as the last vestiges of the nightmare left him. “Kevin?” He blinked in surprise and then looked over as Dean suddenly jerked up and his chair clattered to the floor as his big brother stood over him in a fighting stance, heaving for breath as Sam was.

“Uh…Sam. No offense, but…you weigh a ton, man.” Kevin waved at him from the floor and tried a smile, hoping he wasn’t going to be picking his teeth off the floor in a minute. “Can, uh…can I get up?”

“What? Oh. Uh…wow. Kevin, I’m sorry.” Sam stood hastily and took the kid’s hand, pulling him to his feet. He ran a hand through his wet hair, shoving it out of his eyes. “What the hell?”

Dean staggered back a step and rubbed his hands over his face. He was never so grateful for his ingrained response to the sound of his brother’s voice raised in alarm. Sam’s shout had dragged him out of the nightmare…he shook his head. “Sam, you alright?”

Sam nodded, shook his head and then nodded again. “I don’t…man, that was weird.”

“Nightmares?” Dean asked softly.

Sam nodded. “Oh, yeah.” He paused and glanced over at his brother. “Like in the bar, when the…”

“Yeah. Me too.” Dean cut him off and gave himself a shake. They stared at each other for a second, both trying to drag themselves fully back to the present after the nightmares of their time spent in their individual versions of hell – the nightmares triggered by the flashbacks at the bar had been vividly real in their pain and terror, and reluctant to give up their hold over their victims’ subconscious minds.

Kevin watched them and frowned. He realized suddenly he had this image of them as sort of…untouchable; like they didn’t let things bother them -- good, bad, people dying…they always seemed a little cold. It was one of the things that aggravated him about them, especially Sam since he’d left Kevin on his own for a whole damn year. Yet now, as he watched Dean wrap a hand around his brother’s shoulder and slide it up to his neck as Sam dropped his head and closed his eyes taking a deep breath to obviously settle himself…he realized how wrong he was. They were just as screwed up about all the evil shit as he was; they just did a better job of hiding it and dealing with it.

“There’s coffee.” Kevin said suddenly and shrugged when both men looked at him in surprise. “I…made coffee while you two were…whatever. I have work to do.” He went back to his desk and sat, picking up the tablet and focusing all his attention on it once more. He startled and blinked his vision back to normal as a coffee mug appeared in front of face.

“Huh?” Kevin looked up and found Sam standing next to him with an understanding smile. “Oh, thanks.”

Sam rubbed a hand through his now mostly dry hair and nodded. “Thanks, Kevin.”

Kevin nodded and glanced up to see Dean frying…something on the stove. It smelled good and he smirked as he realized it was bacon. Of course it was bacon.

“Don’t crawl back into word of God land just yet, Kev.” Dean turned his head and gave him a lopsided grin. “Food.”

“Dude, that’s bacon. It’s not a whole meal.” Sam rolled his eyes and went over to him.

“Blasphemy!” Dean glared at him. “This is bacon. It’s everything.”

Kevin watched them, listening to them irritate each other and saw it for the coping mechanism it was. This was how they kept perspective and how they didn’t just curl up in the corner and cry. They pretended they were alright. He smiled sadly watching them and took a sip of his coffee. He saw Dean giving long, concerned looks at Sam behind his back and saw Sam surreptitiously coughing into his elbow when he thought Dean wasn’t looking. Kevin smiled and nodded when Dean plated up bacon and eggs and held it up for him. He really wanted to get back to the translation, but…

“Gotta feed that brain, you’re gonna keep using it this hard.” Dean grinned and slapped a hand up the back of his brother’s head. “Been telling geekboy here that for years. He doesn’t listen to me.”

“Dude.” Sam glared and straightened his hair. “I don’t listen because you’re a pain in the ass, and I _do_ eat.”

“Rabbit food, Sammy. You see rabbits savin’ the world?” Dean shrugged and raised his hands. “Nope. Too stupid.”

“That…is not an argument,” Sam said with a laugh and took his plate from his brother before sitting next to Kevin. “Ignore him.”

Kevin chuckled and dug into his eggs, raising a brow at how good they were. He tended to just shovel whatever was handy in his mouth these days so he could get back to translating, but this was worth losing twenty minutes. “Damn.”

Dean nodded with a self-satisfied smile for him. “I know. I’m awesome.”

Kevin let them talk and spar over the top of him and soaked up the feeling that, at least for a little while, he seemed to have been absorbed into their family as they fed him, poured him coffee, and teased him before finally announcing they were going to be on their way again.

“Thanks, guys.” Kevin said and actually meant it. “Now, can you go and stop distracting me so I can finish this?”

Dean smirked and clapped a hand to his shoulder. “So rude. Come on, Sammy.”

“You are a distraction.” Sam laughed and smiled at Kevin as he pulled the cabin door open and let Dean leave ahead of him. “Remember to take a break once in a while, Kevin. Please?”

Kevin nodded but said nothing. Once they were gone, he took his coffee back to his desk and the tablet and snorted a laugh when he found the little plate of bacon waiting for him. “Brain food,” he said softly and bit into a piece while he turned back to the tablet and listened to the sound of the Impala’s engine fading into the distance.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	30. For Brielle-W

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Brielle-W - Sam and Dean are on a case in an important city. When they are taking a look at the place, they meet the actor from Doctor Sexy. Dean goes all fangirl about it, and asks Sam to take a picture of them. After that, Sam has to send Bobby a picture of a symbol so he can investigate, and "accidentally" sends the wrong one.
> 
> A/N: ok, ok, let me preface this chapter by saying…I could not STOP myself. I had to. I just…it was a moral imperative. It HAD to be done. LOL

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Sam leaned against a slot machine and watched his brother running the poker table across the aisle. Leave it to Dean to find an excuse to gamble just because a case brought them to Vegas. He smirked and shook his head then went over to stand behind him.

“Dude.” Sam tapped his brother’s shoulder. “Work to do, remember? Play later.”

Dean snorted and grinned as the faces of the three men he was currently fleecing all looked hopeful that he’d leave. “Two more minutes, Sammy.” Dean tapped his cards on the table and then pushed his stack of chips into the pot. “All in boys. Put up or shut up time.”

Sam chuckled at the chorus of groans and homed in on the one guy Dean was about to clean out. He still had a look of confidence on his face and Sam felt sorry for him. The rest of the players wisely folded their hands while he shoved several hundred in chips to the pot and grinned.

Dean looked up to Sam and smirked before flipping over his hole cards which, with the cards already on the table, gave him a straight flush.

“Dammit!” The man shouted and thumped back in his chair.

“Thanks for playing, boys.” Dean chuckled and pulled the chips over, hastily piling them into a big, plastic cup before standing. “It’s been fun.”

Sam rolled his eyes as they walked away. “Dude, you have got to stop rubbing it in.”

“I took ‘em to school, Sammy,” Dean said and shook his cup, listening to the chips jostle. “I earn the right to rub it in.”

“Well, can we get back to the case now?” Sam said and laughed as Dean did his happy dance over to the corner to cash his chips in. He waited until Dean came back, tucking a fresh roll of bills into his coat. “We really should see if the box is cursed before Bobby comes looking for us.”

“It’s Vegas, Sam. Bobby knows it could take a while.” Dean raised a brow and turned to watch a group of scantily-clad showgirls strut past them.

Sam snorted. “It’s Vegas and it’s you which means he _will_ come looking if we don’t get on with it.”

Dean chuckled and shrugged; he had a point. “Alright already. Let’s go check out the maybe-not-a-curse-box thing already.” He headed for the entrance of the casino still glancing back over his shoulder at the lovely rear view of the girls walking away from them and grunted as he ran into a man. “Crap. Sorry.” Dean glanced up, looked at his face, and his jaw dropped.

“Dean?” Sam put a hand on his arm and looked at the attractive, dark-haired man his brother had plowed into. “Dude, you alright?”

Dean’s shocked face split in a slow smile. “Dr. Sexy.” He said and then louder. “Sam, it’s Dr. Sexy, M.D.! Holy crap! It’s Dr. Sexy!”

The dark haired man took a long look down Dean’s body and back up to his face before smiling indulgently. “You do know that’s just a character I play, right? It’s not actually my name.”

Dean grinned and actually – Sam did a double-take. Was his brother actually _blushing_?“Right, yeah, of course. I know. It’s just…” He waved his hands at the man and looked over at Sam and then back. “You’re Dr. Sexy.”

“Oh, boy,” Sam muttered and had to work to contain the laugh that bubbled up at watching his big brother geek over some TV star – a hot guy TV star, no less. “You know, usually he’s more articulate than this, I swear.”

The actor chuckled and raised a hand. “It’s fine. Really. I’ve seen much, much worse from fans, believe me.”

“Can I, uh…” Dean stopped and grabbed Sam. “Get out your phone. Can I have a picture with you? I’m a huge fan, I mean, seriously. Huge.”

“You’re definitely big, yes.” The actor smiled and nodded. “Yes, please take a pic.” He shifted to stand beside Dean.

“Oh, wow.” Dean grinned and waved a hand at Sam. “Hurry up, dude.”

Sam gave up and laughed as he pulled his phone out. “And you say I’m the geek.” He lined up the picture on his screen while Dean threw his arm over the actor’s shoulders, and just as he pressed the button to take the picture, the actor visibly dropped his hand down Dean’s back and took a firm hold of his ass. Sam quickly snapped the pic in time to catch Dean’s wide eyes, open mouth, and the man’s hand clearly holding onto one of his cheeks.

The actor turned and gave Dean a huge grin. “If you want to have some fun later, assuming your exceptionally tall boyfriend there doesn’t mind, I’m in room 1202. Hey, bring him along if you want!” He slapped Dean’s ass loudly and walked off smiling. Dean stared after him and put his hands over his backside while Sam wailed with laughter.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathed it, still in shock and then turned to glare at his brother. “Take a damn breath already!”

Sam waved a hand and bent over, holding a hand over his stomach. “Can’t…breathe…oh, my god, that was awesome.” He quickly tucked his phone away in case Dean got any ideas and wiped at his eyes which were streaming with tears of laughter. “Dude…your hero.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his backside, trying to dispel the uncomfortable feeling. “I can’t believe…Dr. Sexy bad-touched me.” He snarled as Sam once more dissolved into laughter and was close to sitting on the floor.

“You could always…go upstairs…and talk to him.” Sam took a few deep breaths to get himself under control and straightened, but the look on Dean’s face had him near tears again. “Dude…you’re actually considering it!” He shook his head. “Why are you even considering this? Do we need to have a closet talk?”

“Shut up!” Dean punched his arm with a snarl. He turned and left the casino and worked very hard to control the slightly smug smile that tried to emerge. “Dr. Sexy grabbed my ass.”

“And offered you man-love.” Sam added from his side and ducked away from the next punch. “Don’t forget that part. If you ever had the urge to experiment…”

“You know I can make sure no one ever finds your body, right?” Dean glared at him. “Can we just go do this job now?”

Sam snorted and nodded, not trusting himself to speak, especially as Dean kept rubbing one hand over his butt.

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Dean knelt in front of the coffin sized box with his flashlight in the auction house. It was covered in a variety of symbols scrawled in black and some in what looked like long-dried blood. “Sure as hell looks like a curse box.”

Sam nodded. “Maybe. I dunno. Some of these symbols seem…off?” He took out his phone and snapped a picture of it. “I’ll send it to Bobby and see what he makes of them.”

Dean nodded and stood, shining the light around the shelves. “Got quite a few goodies in here. We could always borrow a few things.”

“Get a grip.” Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes. “We’re gonna have enough trouble getting this thing out of here if it is holding a curse.”

“We could always crack it open and have a look.” Dean grinned and thumped the top of the box. He raised a brow when his phone rang and took it out. “Huh. Why’s he callin’ me instead of you?” He flipped it open. “Hey, Bobby.”

“Dean, somethin’ you wanna tell me? ‘Cause you know I love ya like a son.”

“Huh? Bobby what the hell are you talking about?” Dean stared over at Sam in confusion.

Sam’s eyes shot wide and he opened his phone, scrolling through his messages. He sucked in a breath suddenly and grinned. “Uh…Dean?”

“I never figured you for battin’ for the other team, but…” Bobby broke off at Dean’s snarl.

“Sam?” Dean glared dangerously at his little brother as things started to click into place. “What picture did you send him?” He watched Sam wave his hands and laugh, unable to speak. “Bobby, I’ll call you back. I gotta go kill my brother.” Dean snapped his phone closed on Bobby’s bark of laughter and pushed the sleeves of his jacket up as his little brother took off running with a whoop of laughter.

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_The End._


	31. For ElizaT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For ElizaT – (I have abridged her prompt and tried to make it easier to understand as English is not her first language though she does VERY well. :D)  
> Set after 4x07 “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester”, Sam hurt more on account of exorcism and stressed with all the pressure, disoriented from the pain and blood loss has a heated discussion with Dean, showing jealousy because Dean is always on the ‘good’ side with Angels and god while Sam is always on the ‘bad’ and never has a choice. It takes a toll and he becomes very sick. Dean, still upset, takes care of him and hurt/comfort ensues as he understands what his brother’s been feeling. Lots of limp Sam, hurt/comfort and angst and yes some humor too.
> 
> A/N: This is, obviously, a tag to 4x07 and hopefully I’ve done a fair job of squeezing this into the episode and stayed mostly canon. :D Hope you enjoy this dear!

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Dean drove with his eyes solidly on the road and definitely not on his little brother who was still trying to stop the damn nosebleed. He’d told him…he’d BEGGED him not to use his powers. Use the knife, Sam, he’d begged, and what did he do? First chance he gets, he goes all ‘Shining’ on Samhain instead. He glared at the road, breathing through his nose for patience and to resist the urge to just stop the car and beat the shit out of the little brother he was trying so hard to save but who seemed to be fighting him at every turn. He pulled into the motel and slammed out of the car and into the room, leaving Sam to get himself inside. He went into the bathroom, decided looking at himself wasn’t going to do any good, and came back out to find Sam pushing the door closed and staring at the floor like a kicked puppy with the rag still held under his nose.

“What, Sam? What?” Dean’s voice was barely below a shout and he fought to bring it back down.

“Dean, I didn’t mean to,” Sam said in a low voice, muffled around the rag and he finally brought his eyes up to his brother’s. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Bullshit, Sam! Bullshit!” Dean was yelling now and just couldn’t hold back the anger anymore. His fuse was a lot shorter since his return from Hell. “You had a choice. I begged you to use the damn knife and you just couldn’t do it!”

“Dean! I…”

“No! You lied to me, Sam.” Dean stepped forward and put a finger in his face. “I asked you to do this one thing! You realize there are damn angels on your ass because of this shit? All you had to do was use the knife!”

“He was gonna kill me!” Sam yelled it back, goaded into defending himself because, dammit, he _had_ tried to keep his promise. “Do you get that? I had two choices, Dean!” He threw the blood-soaked rag across the room and gave Dean his own angry glare. “Die or kill him first! He got the knife away from me! I was pinned to the damn wall! Was I supposed to ask him nice to give me my knife back?” Sam advanced a step in his fury. “Or is that what’s pissed you off? You agree with the angels.” Sam’s chest heaved with the crushing weight of guilt that the angels he had always prayed too wanted him dead, wished him dead. “You wish I’d died in there! Is that it? ‘Cuz that was the only other alternative, Dean.” He swiped a hand under his nose at the blood that wouldn’t stop flowing.

“What?” Dean’s temper suddenly stalled as Sam’s words rang in his ears, but Sam had his own head of steam up now.

“I prayed, Dean. You know I did!” Sam turned and threw a fist into the wall with a laugh that sounded half-crazed even to him. “Fucking angels! I prayed to them all my life and they hate me!” He turned back to his big brother with a snarl. “But not you. No, never you. You never even believed, but _you_ they trust and save and carry out of Hell, and what do I get? Poisoned in my damn crib by a demon and crapped on for the rest of my life!”   
  
He was heaving for air and could feel the blood still running even as his head threatened to split in two. Sam knew he should stop and try to do…something. “I’m evil. You’re good, and that’s it. That’s it!” He went to his knees as the room spun and his head filled with a buzzing that blotted out all other sound. “Fucking…I’m evil. I should…I should be dead. You’re righ…right. Should have let him kill me.”

Dean stared at Sam, appalled at what he was hearing and seeing what it was doing to his brother. “Jesus, Sam. Stop!” Dean knelt down in front of him and grabbed his brother’s shoulders. “Sam? Dude, you gotta calm down. Sam!” He watched Sam screw his eyes shut as if in agony and winced at the blood still leaking from his nose to turn his shirt red. “Sam, come on.” In answer, Sam collapsed into him and Dean fell to his butt with a lap full of little brother. “Sammy? Shit!”

Dean rolled him over and put a hand to Sam’s blood-slicked throat. The feel of his heart beating comforted him. Whatever else was wrong, he was still alive. His own heart had a few new cracks in it with Sam’s bitter words that had pierced right through his anger and frustration to cut deep into his soul. It hadn’t really occurred to him to think of it like that, but Sam had a point. It was like heaven and hell were choosing sides in the Winchester family to drive them apart somehow, and Sam always seemed to get the short end of the stick but how could Sam possibly think that he actually agreed with wanting him – “Oh, God, Sam…I’m sorry.” The words were barely more than a whisper, but he knew Sam couldn’t hear him anyway. Badly shaken himself, he just held his brother for a moment longer before realizing he had to do something…anything.

“Ok, buddy.” Dean pulled Sam’s upper body into his chest and struggled to his feet with the dead weight. He could feel warm blood wetting the shoulder of his shirt and tried not to let it panic him more than he already was. Dean dragged his brother to the far bed and laid him down on it, picking up his legs and shoving them up until he had him on his back. He ran to the bathroom and wet a towel, then came back and sat, pressing it against his brother’s nose. “Gotta stop this.” He smoothed a hand over Sam’s forehead, brushing the shaggy hair aside and frowned; he was warmer than he should be. He dropped his head and tried to figure out when his whole world had gone sideways. Dean snorted angrily. “Right. I made a deal,” He said softly. He looked down at Sam’s slack face and leaned over him. “I’d do it again, Sam. Savin’ you’s all I’ve ever had, and I’d do it again. You hear me? You do NOT deserve to die.” His words were fierce and he meant every word.

Dean pulled the rag away and nodded; the bleeding seemed to have stopped for the moment. He looked down at Sam’s shirts and swallowed. It was disturbing on a visceral level to see that much of Sam’s blood on him, life-threatening or not. Dean gently pulled him up and leaned his brother against his chest while he pushed his jacket off and then worked at tugging his shirts off of him. He laid his brother back and only just stopped himself from running a blood covered hand through his hair.

He went to the bathroom and washed his hands then grabbed another towel, wetting it with cold water and took it back out. Dean laid it over his brother’s forehead and snarled as Sam’s nose started bleeding again. “Aw, what the hell?” He grabbed the other rag again and pressed it under his nose. He briefly toyed with the idea of calling Castiel but shucked that notion away, unsure if the angel would be willing to help his brother or if he even could.

“Sam.” Dean leaned over as his brother moaned softly. He watched Sam’s eyes move under his lids and a tremor went through his body before his eyes shot open and he lurched up. “Whoa! Take it easy!” Dean pushed his shoulders back to the bed and resettled the cold towel on his head. “You’re ok. I’ve got you.” There was panic in Sam’s eyes for a moment, and then something that looked like disbelief. “Sammy?”

Sam clamped a hand around Dean’s wrist, needing the reassurance that he really was there and closed his eyes. “Sorry. I…I forget sometimes…when I sleep.”

“Forget what?” Dean asked, watching his brother scowl and then it hit him. “I really am here, Sammy. You’re not alone anymore.” He felt the tension slowly go out of Sam’s body and the grip Sam had on his wrist loosened marginally. “Sam.” Dean waited until his eyes cracked open to look at him. “You know I’ve never, _ever_ , wished you dead, right? I mean, you’d have to be a special kinda stupid to think I’d ever think that.” His green eyes were locked on Sam’s hazel ones, unwavering in their intensity.

“I…” Sam stopped and tried to think back on the things he’d said. His memory was fuzzy around the edges and none of it was clear, but he remembered enough. “No. No, I know that. I’m sorry.” He reached up and took the rag from Dean, pulling it off his nose. “I just…I can’t help but feel like…no matter what, I’m destined to be…”

“Fuck destiny, Sam,” Dean said forcefully. “I mean it, man. I’m not meant to be good any more than you’re meant to be evil. That’s crap and you know it.”

Sam shook his head slowly as pain pounded through it. “The angels said…”

“I don’t give a crap what they said!” Dean took a breath, calming himself. Sam didn’t need his anger right now. “Don’t you let them twist up your head worse than it already is, Sam. We have free will. We can choose, and you…you’ve always chosen to save people. Hell, you’ve fought me to save some of the damn monsters, and you were right.” He sighed and gave his brother a rueful smile. “You’re a better person than me, Sammy. Always were.”

“No. No, Dean.” Sam struggled to push himself up in the bed with a groan. When that didn’t work, he settled for tightening his grip on his brother’s arm. “Why can’t you ever see that you ARE good, Dean. You’ve been a hero to me since I was four. If I’m a good person, it’s because you’ve taught me that.”   
  
“This ain’t about me.” Dean peeled Sam’s fingers off his arm and stood. “This is about you and you thinking the world’d be better off if you were dead. That’s crap, Sam.” He went to the little refrigerator and took out a bottle of water then went to his bag and dug out the bottle of painkillers.

“Dean. I’ve screwed a lot of things up.” Sam stopped because it was true and Dean had no idea the depth to which he’d sunk. He took a breath. “I need you to believe…I didn’t have a choice with Samhain.” He looked up as Dean came back and sat beside him. “He was killing me, and…and I was afraid that if he did, then he’d kill you too.” He whispered it and shook his head. “I don’t know…maybe if I’d done something different, if he hadn’t…hadn’t gotten the knife away from me…”

“Alright. Alright. Stop.” Dean put a hand back on Sam’s shoulder as his breath started to hitch with emotion. He blew out a breath. “I believe you, ok?” He started to say Sam could have waited for him and then shook his head. Sam would likely be dead. “I’m still pissed, but…I get it.” He took the towel off his forehead and stood. He handed him the pills and the water. “Take these.”

Sam swallowed the pills and took the moment Dean was in the bathroom to close his eyes and let the pain beat against him. Killing Samhain had cost him more than he was used to, and, frankly, he was a little scared. He jumped when Dean’s weight settled on the bed next to him again.

“Easy.” Dean laid the towel across Sam’s forehead again. “You’re runnin’ some kind of freaky fever here, dude. Does this…I mean, is this…normal?”

Sam shrugged, grimacing at the headache. “The pain…the nosebleed, yeah. Not usually this long, but Samhaim – not your garden variety demon. Wasn’t sure I could…” His voice trailed off for a moment. “I don’t…I don’t know about the fever. I’ve never really paid attention.”

Dean nodded and said nothing. It hurt him deeply that they’d been apart so long that there were things he no longer knew about his little brother. “You know why you doing this pisses me off, right?” He raised a brow when Sam looked questioningly up at him. “Because it hurts you, jackass. I can’t protect you from your own damn head, Sam.”

“You don’t have to.” Sam groaned as the pain ramped up behind his eyes.

“Apparently, I do.” Dean said softly and wrapped his hand around the side of his brother’s neck. “Breathe, Sammy. Breathe through it. How long’s this usually last?”

Sam shook his head and couldn’t stop another pained moan from escaping him. “Think maybe…blew a few…fuses killing him.”

“Not fillin’ me with an over-abundance of confidence here, dude.” Dean smirked and then frowned as he watched his brother slam his eyes closed again and swallow several times. “You gonna hurl?” Sam gave him a quick nod. “Shit.” Dean lurched up and across the room, grabbed the little can and was back in time to help his brother roll to his side and throw up what little he’d eaten that day. Dean grimaced, seeing the amount of blood in the can and comforted himself knowing it was just from the stupid nosebleed.

Sam coughed and spit and would have face-planted off the bed if not for his brother’s hands pulling and rolling him back. “Thanks.” He said hoarsely.

Dean set the can aside and handed him the bottle of water again, helping to hold his head up while he took a few swallows. He set it aside and smirked. “Hey, think the puke-fest made your fever go away.”

Sam groaned and wrapped a hand around his aching head. “Awesome.” He looked down at himself and his bare, blood-spotted chest and his eyes widened. “Dude, when’d I take my shirts off?”

Dean snorted softly. “Wow. Can’t put anything past you.” He handed Sam the damp rag he’d had on his head. “Here. Clean yourself up a little.” He turned around and wrestled Sam’s sneakers off his feet then stood and tugged the blanket out from under him.

“Dean, I’m not five.” Sam protested, yet made no move to fight about it and, in fact, curled over on his side as Dean pulled the blanket up to his shoulders. He just didn’t have any fight left in him right then, and having his big brother there and alive to do all the things he’d missed so much…Sam turned his face into the pillow to hide the tears that refused his control.

Dean sensed it anyway even as Sam hid his face. He dropped a hand to his brother’s shoulder for a moment. “We’ll figure this out, Sam.” He sighed. “Somehow. Get some sleep.” He pulled off his own jacket and tossed it to a chair, kicked off his boots and rolled onto his own bed wearily. Nothing about this mess made any sense and everything felt…wrong… since he’d come back. Dean glanced over to Sam -- some things more wrong than others, and, still, taking care of his brother felt right and comfortable. He sighed and closed his eyes. He’d deal with tomorrow tomorrow.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Sam said softly from the other bed and made Dean startle. He opened his eyes and smirked over at his big brother. “You’re keeping me up.”

Dean stared and then chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Shut up.” He rolled over and punched his pillow before settling his head in it. “You’re such a girl.” There was a moment of silence and then Dean spoke again. “Ya know….I’ve really come to hate those powers of yours and what it does to you, and I’d be really happy if they disappeared tomorrow, but…dude, you took out freakin’ Samhaim. I don’t even want to admit it, but…damn! That’s sorta impressive.”   
  
Sam actually turned to stare at him in surprise. Dean caught the look and glared back. “Don’t think for a second that means I approve, or that I _ever_ want you to do it again. I’m just sayin’…

Sam turn back into his pillow and closed his eyes again with a smile and a silent resolution to do better and deserve the trust and care Dean gave him, even after the kind of monumental mistakes he made. “I’m sorry, Dean,” He whispered it, needing Dean to understand and believe him.

Dean sighed again. “I know, Sammy. Just go to sleep.”

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_The End._


	32. For LynnHarpoeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For LynnHarpoeth – Post 8x15 "Man's Best Friend with Benefits" - hurt!sam, awesome!dean, general angst. An isolated location somewhere. Some rekindling of the brotherly relationship it once were. The rest is up to you. 
> 
> A/N: Hope you enjoy this one! :D I had fun writing it.

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Dean drove along the quiet, country road with the occasional glance toward his brother sleeping in the passenger seat. He wasn’t looking forward to sleeping later when they eventually stopped for the night. Spencer’s mystic crap had given him a whirlwind tour through his worst memories, mainly his time in hell, and he didn’t figure he was going to make it through the night without at least one nightmare. He was watching Sam because he knew damn well that witch bastard had stirred up his memories of the cage and that, frankly, worried him. He still didn’t quite understand all Castiel had done to ‘fix’ his brother, but he knew Sam still carried a couple hundred years’ worth of abject torment in his head, but somehow…had his sanity intact.

As if sensing the direction of Dean’s thoughts, Sam suddenly moaned and twitched in the seat. “Shit.” Dean slowed down, glad they were the only car on the road and looked over as his brother’s movements picked up and then a strangled ‘no’ escaped him, and Dean swerved over to the shoulder and into the grass, stopping. He turned and grabbed Sam’s shoulder and gave him a shake.

“Sam. Sammy, wake up.” Dean shook him again and it was like he couldn’t wake up. Sam just kept struggling in the grip of the nightmare with his face screwed up as though he were in pain. “Dammit.” Dean hastily climbed out of the car and went around to the passenger side. He opened the door and stopped Sam’s topple out of the seat since he’d been leaning on the door. “Come on, buddy. Wake up already.” Dean gave him another shake and tapped his face a few times.

Sam came awake on a shout. “NO!” He thrashed and would have fallen out of the car if not for Dean’s hold on him. He gasped air in and out and stared at his brother as the nightmare vision slowly faded. “Shit!” He said it with an explosive breath and curled over his knees to hold his head.

“Ok, take it easy.” Dean kept a hand on his shoulder as he hunched over and frowned when he heard a pained groan. “Sam? You alright?”

Sam heard the concern in Dean’s voice and wanted to reassure him. He got one leg out of the car and tried to turn and look at him, but the world spun underneath as he raised his head.

“Shit!” Dean caught Sam as he toppled out of the car and practically into his lap. He hastily rolled Sam to his back, propping his head on his elbow and tried to rein in his own panic. “Sammy? Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Sam’s eyes were closed tight with pain. “Head.” He whispered it and rolled his face into Dean’s arm as a lone car passed them and the lights speared behind his eyes.

Dean scowled. He ran his free hand around Sam’s head, tunneling his fingers under his ridiculous hair and hissed in a breath when he got around the back behind his left ear. There was a sizeable lump, and he remembered how they had both been thrown across the bar and that Spencer, the asshole witch, had used Sam to demolish a table. “Shit, Sammy. No wonder your head hurts.” Sam sucked in a breath on a moan as Dean’s fingers pressed on the bump and the pain ratcheted up. “S-stop.” It turned his stomach, and he grabbed frantically at his brother’s jacket.

“Oh, crap.” Dean understood instinctively from a lifetime of dealing with the various phases of sick Sam. He tipped him up so he was sitting as quickly as he dared and leaned him over just as Sam started to heave. They hadn’t really eaten in a while so there wasn’t much for him to throw up but bile and soon enough he was spitting it out onto the grass and collapsed back into Dean, exhausted. “Easy.”

“Sorry.” Sam wrapped a hand around his pounding head. “Must’ve…hit my head…harder than I thought.”

Dean nodded and held on to him. “Well, no shit. You got a lump the size of my fist back there.” He shifted and tried to wiggle a rock out from under his butt and rolled his eyes. “You just let me know when you’re ready to try gettin’ up again.” Sitting on his ass in wet grass on the side of the road in the middle of the night wasn’t quite how he saw this night ending.

Sam pulled on his arm. “I’m good. Ge’me up.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, try that again with your head up and your eyes open, genius. Sit still.”

Sam subsided with a quick nod that cost him another round of pain. “Feel stupid,” he muttered, sitting in the grass with his big brother holding him up like he was a child again.

“You look stupid.” Dean cheerfully confirmed for him and chuckled.

“Shut up.” Sam would have glared up at him if he could have done it without his eyes crossing. He unwrapped his hand from his head and took hold of the seat above him instead. “Up.”

“Geez. One knock to the head and you revert to childhood.” Dean smirked as he pushed Sam up so he was sitting on his own, stood and helped ease him back up into the car. “If you’re gonna hurl again, you tell me. No pukin’ in my baby.”

Sam groaned, half in the seat with his feet on the ground and curled back over his knees to hold his head. “Shit.”

“Dammit.” Dean leaned around him and popped open the glove box. He rummaged through until he came up with the penlight and leaned back. “Head up for a sec, dude.” He curved a hand around the back of Sam’s neck and clicked the light on while Sam carefully tipped his head back and slit his eyes open to look at him. Dean shone the light in his eyes, knowing it was going to hurt him but needing to see his eyes. To his relief, Sam’s pupils were normal, and he quickly took the light away as his brother slammed his eyes shut and rocked forward again. “Easy.” Dean let Sam’s head thump into his shoulder and tossed the light in the car. “Sorry, buddy. Had to check.”

Sam nodded once and then snorted. The snort turned into a chuckle in spite of the pain. “Could have been worse,” he said and kept his voice down so he didn’t hurt his own head with the sound. “’least I didn’t get strangled.”

Dean was startled into a laugh because Sam was right. His throat was usually target number one for pretty much everything they came across. “Always finding the bright side,” Dean said and rolled his eyes, then sobered because that was true too. Even with the trials and whatever hell Sam was going to have to endure yet, he had still found a bright side there as well, a light at the end of the tunnel. His brother had been doing a lot of that all their lives…for them both.

“I’m ok,” Sam said as he felt Dean’s hand tighten on the back of his neck in concern. “Just…too many knocks to the head in one day.” He grabbed Dean’s shoulders and used them to push himself up so he was sitting and gave a short nod. “I’m good.” To prove it, he pulled his legs in the car.

Dean watched him cautiously and when he didn’t topple over again, sighed and stood. “Alright.” He pushed the door shut, being careful not to slam it or make too much noise and jogged around to the driver’s side, sliding back behind the wheel. “You sure? ‘Cause we can sit here and you can have some more nature appreciation time, or whatever.” He smirked as Sam snorted a laugh.

“Shut up and drive already.” Sam leaned back and let his head rest on the seat as the engine rumbled to life and smiled. It faltered as he remembered why he had woken up; it hadn’t been the pain. It had been the tour through his memories of the Cage, remembered agonies he couldn’t even describe, torments Lucifer and Michael both had visited upon him…

“Hey!” Dean shook his shoulder when he saw his brother scowling and heard his breathing start to race.

Sam jerked and opened his eyes again, lifting his head up. “Sorry,” He said breathlessly and was surprised to find they were still sitting on the side of the road, unmoved.

Dean watched him for a moment. He had seen a very clear expression of fear cross his brother’s face for just a second. He put the Impala in gear and rather than head back onto the road, he turned her into the field and drove slowly out into the middle of it before shutting off the engine. “Come on. Out.”

“Huh? Dean, what…” Sam was left talking to himself as Dean climbed out of the seat. “Ok.” He opened his door and climbed out, having to hold his head as it pounded with the movement. He heard the trunk bang closed, and then Dean was at his elbow, pulling him to the front of the car. “What are we doing?”

Dean pushed him around to the hood and then hopped up onto it himself and set the little cooler he’d grabbed beside him. “We’re takin’ a break, Sammy.” He pulled out two beers and raised a brow. “You don’t get one ‘til you sit down.”

Sam shook his head, regretting it with the headache banging at him and slid up onto the hood and back to the windshield. He took the beer Dean handed him and looked up into the night sky. “What prompted this?”

Dean tossed the folded blanket he’d grabbed up behind his brother for a head rest and leaned back himself with a sigh and took a healthy swig of his beer. “Honestly, I’m kind of not interested in finding a motel and sleeping just yet.” He shrugged and watched the stars twinkle. It was true, having had his own trip down tortured memory lane, but he was only admitting it so Sam wouldn’t decide to play hard-ass about his own. Nothing softened the big girl up faster than caring and sharing bullshit. He snorted softly. Sam was turning him soft.

Sam stared at him for a moment in surprise and then lay back, grateful when his aching head landed on the folded blanket. He watched the stars and tried to let them and his brother’s presence at his shoulder soothe away the pain and the fear. It was nice…just lying there on the warm hood in the cool night and watching the stars. It felt normal and safe and even the silence was comforting with nothing but the breeze through the grass around them.

They sat companionably for a while like that, just drinking their beers and letting the night soak into them. Dean kept an eye on his brother and watched the tension slowly ease out of him and the tightness around his eyes smooth away that said the pain from the concussion was finally letting up. He smiled and emptied his beer, set it aside and folded his arms behind his head. “I’m startin’ to see it, Sammy.”

“Huh?” Sam rolled his head sleepily. He’d been close to dozing off when Dean spoke. “See what?”

Dean shrugged. “That light at the end of the tunnel.” For just a moment, he’d been able to picture sitting here like this with Sam when they were old. It had been quickly crushed under reality, but, for a moment, he’d seen it and found he wanted to have a shot at that…wanted to believe he COULD have a shot at that.

Sam breathed in and blinked furiously for a moment until he was sure he wasn’t going to make an idiot of himself and nodded. “Good,” he said softly and smiled.

Dean rolled his eyes and smirked. He’d known Sam all his life and had clearly heard him sucking back tears. “You wanna go?”

Sam closed his eyes and held out his beer to Dean. “Nope.”

Dean took it with a chuckle and took a swig then passed it back. “Me neither.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	33. For N008137

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For N008137 – Season 5, Team Free Will - Someone/something has set their sights on the unsuspecting brothers. Cas takes matters into his own hands.
> 
> A/N: I’ll set this one post 5x13 “The song remains the same”, after the birth of Team Free Will. :D Good place for it. Now for a little mayhem and some general angelic bad-assery!  
> Also…it’s quite possible part of this became a kind of ‘Study in Cas’. LOL Didn’t plan on it but my Muse wanted to investigate…so we did.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Castiel sat uneasily on the side of the motel room bed. Travelling back and forth in time had expended so much of his precious energy he felt…weak. He was uncomfortable with the feeling. He had seen his own blood and, on his trip forward through time, was convinced he had, just for a moment, tasted the terror of mortality before he had appeared in the motel room and Sam and Dean had caught him as he fell. He looked up as the bathroom door opened and Sam walked out, dressed and toweling his hair.

“Good morning, Sam,” Castiel said in his low voice, noting to himself that it was more gravelly than normal with…exhaustion?

“Cas! You’re awake!” Sam smiled broadly and knelt beside him, looking up. “How do you…you know, do you feel alright?” He frowned, studying the angel’s face and realized he actually looked tired.

“I am…fine.” Castiel replied, using the oft-uttered phrase both Winchesters used whether they were actually fine or not. He began to see the merits of it in diverting unwanted attention from one’s self.

“Ok.” Sam nodded, although not seeming entirely convinced. There wasn’t much he could say to an angel even if he thought he was lying. Sam stood and gasped softly, wrapping both arms around his stomach as he doubled over.

“Sam?” Castiel stood and took his shoulder. He instinctively sought to send his power into Sam and find the cause of his pain and heal it and scowled in irritation when it failed him and left him momentarily dizzy. “What is wrong?” he asked instead.

Sam shook his head, robbed of speech just then by the memory of the feeling of a length of pipe stabbing into his stomach and up into his chest. It took him to his knees.

“Sam.” Castiel tried to keep him on his feet and settled for not letting him topple forward into the floor. He pushed the young Hunter upright and frowned as he pulled Sam’s shirt up, having to knock his hands away to do so. There was no sign of injury save an odd, round red mark high on his abdomen. “What has happened?”

Sam fought to get his breath back and speak. He opened his mouth and then looked up gratefully when the room door opened and his brother came in with a bag of food. “Dean.” It was soft and hoarse and barely audible but it was enough.

“Sammy?” Dean dropped the food on the table and dropped on his other side. “Cas, what the hell’s going on?”

“It appears to be his stomach, but…he is not injured.” Castiel shook his head. “I do not understand.”

“Dammit,” Dean cursed and laid a hand over the center of his brother’s back. “I do. Sam?”

Sam raised his head and felt his brother’s hand, knowing exactly what he was thinking with that touch and he nodded.

“Ok. Let’s get him up.” Dean took one arm and Castiel the other and together they raised Sam and got him on the bed. “It’s like…like when he died, Cas. The demon didn’t completely heal the wound in his back.” He still had his hand over the spot and mercilessly crushed the full-body shudder that tried to escape. Last night had been the second time he’d watched his brother murdered in front of him and been powerless. “He still has the scar. It hurt him like a son of a bitch for days.”

“He bears an odd mark on his abdomen.” Castiel confirmed and frowned. “What happened?”

“Anna.” Sam managed and rested his arms on his legs as he waited for the pain to pass. “She…killed me.”

“Gutted him with a damn pipe,” Dean clarified on an angry growl. “And Michael healed him and sent us back and apparently did the same piss poor job of it the demon did. Breathe, buddy. Come on.” Sam’s labored breaths were wearing on his nerves, and, at the same time, a part of him flinched, terrified they would suddenly stop. “You do anything for him?”

Castiel shook his head. “No. I am sorry. I…I tried.”

“It’s ok,” Sam assured his brother and straightened slowly. “I’m ok. It’s…easing off.”

“Not for long.” Dean said darkly and stood, running a hand through his hair.

Sam nodded. He remembered how it had gone before. He’d been weak for days, and the pain had come and gone as if toying with him. What he had been the whole time…was hungry, like his body had to replenish after being brought back from death and he felt it now. “Starving.”

“Yeah, that’s the same. That, at least, I can do something about.” Dean went to the table and grabbed the bag of food. Sam’s hunger gave him a small measure of reassurance as he’d pretty much inhaled everything Dean had in the cabin at the time. “Here.” He handed it to his brother. “Burgers. I’ll go get something else. Cas.”

Castiel followed Dean to the door and outside. “What do you need me to do, Dean?” He knew there were things he should be doing, leads he could be following, and yet…knowing one of his own brothers was responsible for the pain Sam was in, he felt an obligation to stay and help.

Dean looked in the door at his brother, hunched over himself again and hadyet to eat anything and then to the angel. “Cas, I need to get some things but…”

“You do not wish to leave him. I understand.” Castiel nodded firmly. “Give me a list. I will get what you need.”

“Dude.” Dean raised a brow at him. “You’re gonna go to a store and…buy stuff?”

Castiel straightened and squared his shoulders. “I am an angel of the Lord. I can…shop.”

Dean snorted, amused in spite of the concern for Sam and shrugged. “Ok, but you’re walkin’. There’s a store down the street.” He waved in the direction. “No offense, but I’m not handin’ the keys to my baby to a guy who’s more comfortable with a set of wheels with a horse in front of ‘em.” He chuckled and stepped past the angel to the room. He took a piece of the motel paper and scrawled out a quick list.

Castiel left them with Dean sitting beside his little brother, hand once more hovering over that not-old-enough scar on his back as he urged him to eat something. He closed the door and started down the long line of rooms with his list in one hand and the cash Dean had given him in the other. Part of him said to go back to the room and get back to his search. It was so much more important…it was everything, and still he found himself walking down the road, raincoat flapping in the stiff wind that had picked up.

He felt the corner of one side of his mouth twitch up in amusement that he, an angel of the Lord, was about to go shopping like any mortal. These were strange times, indeed. Castiel strode through the automatic doors of the store and spent a moment just looking out over the numerous aisles confronting him.

“Oh, honey. You look lost.” A woman laughed softly and touched his arm. “Can I point you in the right direction?”

Castiel turned and looked at the elderly woman smiling up at him under a beehive of silver hair and nodded. He held out his list. “I am looking for these.”

She leaned over and peered at his list. “Well, most of what you want is in the pharmacy.” She pointed to the back corner of the store and patted his arm again. “If you need help back there just give me a shout.”

“Thank you.” Castiel headed down the nearest aisle.

“Oh, here, dear.” She followed after him and pushed a small basket into his hands. “You’ll need this.”

“I…thank you.” Castiel took it and studied the contraption for a moment before holding it awkwardly by the handle and continuing down the aisle. His mind went back to Sam and wondered why Michael had not simply healed him completely. He frowned…because Michael wanted him to suffer, of course. No doubt, he was attempting to teach Dean a lesson. Castiel snorted softly as he turned into the pharmacy aisles. The archangel would, at some point, have a very rude awakening about how Dean reacted to his brother being used against him.

“You think this is enough to knock ‘em out? They’re big guys.”

Castiel stopped and cocked his head at hearing the harshly whispered comment from one of the aisles nearby. Warning bells went off in his mind though he didn’t know why.

“Hell, Joe. That’s enough to kill a moose, oughta be enough for the Winchesters.”

Castiel froze at the sound of the malicious chuckle that followed that statement and the first warm burn of anger worked its way into him. He was an angel of the Lord and emotions, generally, weren’t something he had much use for. But righteous anger…that was something every warrior of God understood. It was like a comfortable old suit, and he pulled it around him as he set the basket down and stalked silently to the end of the aisle and around, looking for the two potential dead men he had overheard. To his consternation, the aisle was empty as was each aisle he looked down. He heard a bell ring at the front of the store and marched there quickly.

“Were there two men here just now?” Castiel asked the old woman who had greeted him.

“Just left.” She smiled fondly at him. “Where did your basket go?”

Castiel ignored her and went quickly outside. He saw the bumper of a large truck vanish around the side of the building and growled. He decided he would be staying a while longer.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean looked up and gave a relieved smile when Castiel came in. The angel held up his bag for him and looked around the room with a frown. “Where is Sam?”

Dean hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the bathroom. “Puking.” His voice was tight with tension. “I know he’s fine, but it doesn’t make this any easier.”

Castiel went to the door and with a complete lack of the understanding of social conventions, opened the door and went in to kneel beside the younger Winchester. He frowned harder at seeing the clear signs of blood in the bowl before Sam reached a hand up and flushed.

“Cas,” Sam’s voice was hoarse and he sat back wearily. “Knock first, man.”

Castiel reached out and rapped his knuckles twice on the wall before curving a hand around the side of Sam’s head.

Sam snorted softly and closed his eyes. “Not what I meant.” He tried to push the angel’s hand away but Castiel simply pushed his hand aside.

“Stop.” Castiel closed his own eyes and tried to focus. He had some small measure of power back now; enough to be able to check his injury, if little else.

“Cas, what…” Dean stopped in the bathroom door. “Sammy?”

“He will be fine.” Castiel dropped his hand and stood. “The remaining damage is minimal.” He had been able to see it in his mind like a shadow of the injury that had torn in and up into Sam’s chest. He stepped aside and let Dean go to his brother. Castiel went back out into the room and twitched the curtains over the windows closed with a quick glance around the parking lot for the truck he had seen. He watched Dean shove Sam towards the far bed, seeing the roll of Sam’s eyes and the glare from his big brother that clearly said ‘stay’ and the answering, weary nod as Sam rolled onto the bed and curled around his stomach with a groan.

Dean went to the table and opened the bag the angel had brought. “What exactly does ‘minimal’ mean?” Dean asked softly.

Castiel glanced over at Sam. “Minimal. Not life threatening.” He looked up and met Dean’s fierce gaze. “He will heal…as he did before.”

Dean shook himself loose of the image of Sam dead…again, and nodded. “Alright. Cas…thanks for this.”

Castiel nodded in return and, watching the concern in Dean’s face as he went to his brother, decided they did not need the added fear of whatever those two men in the store were planning. They would have to go through him to get to the brothers. “I will return.” He didn’t wait to hear Dean’s words before he flitted out of the room and to the roof of the motel. Castiel did it on purpose, vanishing the way he did because some small part of him enjoyed discomfiting the eldest Winchester. It amused him, he supposed, to see the man so in control of everything else to be left staring gape-mouthed for a moment in the absence of his presence. Castiel smirked. This is what family should feel like, he knew. He had observed Sam and Dean and Bobby enough to understand that.

He looked down on the parking lot, safe in the knowledge that no mortal could see him just then. Castiel walked along the roof with his coat flapping around his legs in the wind and considered. They were human, the men in the store. He was sure of that much. He would have felt otherwise. Human meant stopping them shouldn’t pose any serious threat to him. He found a spot where he could see their room and settled in to wait.

It was nearing two in the morning when they arrived. Castiel stirred from his silent vigil and stepped along the rooftop, following the truck as it rounded the motel parking lot and headed to the back. He had checked periodically on Sam and Dean, entering invisibly for brief checks that Sam was well, at least as well as could be expected, before resuming his vigil. The rage he had felt in the store swelled in him as he watched the two men park and emerge from the truck all dressed in black and each carrying a bag.

Castiel snarled softly when he saw the glint of blades in each of their hands and dropped from the roof to the ground beside them. He gave a feral smile as neither man reacted to his presence. He had thought carefully of how to handle them. Once, he would simply have touched them and erased their minds, afitting fate for two souls as black as theirs, and he could see the stain on them like an aura hanging around their shoulders. He didn’t have the energy to spare for that. Castiel watched them near the small window that led into the Winchester’s motel room. He popped into being behind them, enjoying the twin startled gasps before he grasped both their shoulders in a vice-like grip and ‘moved’ them.

They appeared inside the darkened store where Castiel had first heard them. The angel staggered briefly with the expenditure of power while both men sprawled to the carpeted floor, disoriented. He straightened and shrugged off the momentary weakness while the men rose unsteadily to their feet and stared at him.

“What the fuck are you?” The taller of the two men asked angrily.

“I am an angel of the Lord and you will not harm the Winchesters.” Castiel glared down and took a step toward them.

“Angel of the Lord, my ass.” The shorter man rolled his eyes and drew a gun, leveling it at Castiel’s head. “No such thing.” He gasped as Castiel was suddenly in his personal space and cried out when his arm was twisted. There was a sharp snap and the gun fell from his nerveless fingers as he went to the floor.

“Bastard!” The taller man shouted and swiped at the angel with his knife.

Castiel easily evaded the blow. Angelic powers or not, he was still a warrior and had been for more millennia than this pathetic mortal could even begin to contemplate. He spun behind him and kicked out his legs, wrapped a hand painfully in the back of his greasy hair and took hold of his knife hand. “Why are you after the Winchesters?”

“SCREW you!” The man yelled and cursed as Castiel bent his wrist back until the knife fell.

“I don’t think I would enjoy that.” Castiel pulled him around and slammed his head into one of the displays at the end of an aisle and let him topple to the side, unconscious. He turned to the second man who scrambled back from him with fear on his face. “Why the Winchesters? I won’t ask again.”

The man stared up at him and nodded. “Uh…they…Joe said they…started the apocalypse. We were gonna…” He swallowed hard as the tall, dark man stopped at his feet to glare down at him. “Joe figured someone had to…make ‘em pay.”

Castiel reached down and fisted a hand in the front of the man’s shirt, pulling him up until his feet dangled above the floor and his hands wrapped around the angel’s arm, trying to find some purchase. “The Winchesters are under my protection. You will not harm them.” Castiel gave him a shake, resisting the urge to snap his neck. Instead, he threw him effortlessly and smiled a small smile when he crashed into a shelf and slid to the floor, unmoving and alive.

He walked to the front of the store, brushing his raincoat straight and forced the doors open. The alarm sounded and he walked away toward the motel. Castiel still considered killing them and removing any threat they posed permanently but knew that neither Sam nor Dean would agree with him. Killing humans was not something either man did easily.

Castiel reached the motel and sighed, no longer having the energy to do anything but knock on the door like a mortal. He knocked once, softly, and, as he expected, the door opened a moment later. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean smirked as opened the door and let the angel in. “Knocking on the door like a normal person. You’re learning.” He closed the door. “Don’t worry. Sam’s up.” He nodded to the closed bathroom door and rubbed a hand tiredly over his face.

“He is…puking, again?” Castiel asked and Dean nodded. “It will pass.”

“I know.” Dean went to the little refrigerator and took out one of the bottles of Gatorade he’d had the angel get earlier. “Just not gonna get any sleep ‘til it does.”

“Dean.” Castiel went to him and took the bottle from his hand. “Sleep. I’ll sit with him.”

“Cas?” Dean stared in surprise. “Dude, I got this.”

“If you’re exhausted, you can’t adequately protect yourself or Sam. You need sleep.” Castiel went to the bathroom door. “I do not.” He opened the door then stopped and banged his knuckles twice as an afterthought before going inside and pushing it closed on Dean’s bemused expression.

“Huh.” Dean looked at the door for a moment, hearing Sam’s protest quickly put down by Castiel’s soft voice and shrugged. He went to his bed and dropped onto it, rolling into his pillow and was almost instantly asleep.

Castiel sat on the edge of the tub beside Sam and didn’t argue when the younger Winchester leaned back from the toilet after another round of vomiting and thumped back into his legs; weary beyond words. The angel held the bottle of Gatorade over Sam’s shoulder and let him take it in shaking hands.

“Cas.” Sam’s voice was rough and he coughed to clear it. “Thanks. You can go…if you need to.”

Castiel pulled a small towel off the rack above the toilet and handed it to him so he could clean his face. “I have time.” He could hear Dean snoring softly in the other room and would not violate the trust Dean had put in him by leaving. He had left Castiel to watch over Sam and that was not something he did lightly. A small measure of his power had returned, and he felt Sam gearing up for an argument that he was fine and the angel could leave. Castiel opted to save him the energy and pressed two fingers lightly to Sam’s temple. He went lax against the angel’s legs, head rolling to the side in sleep, and Castiel rescued the bottle of Gatorade before it could fall.

“Sleep, Sam.” Castiel said softly. He heard the sound of sirens muffled through the walls and smiled. He wondered briefly what the two men would tell the police when they were found inside the store -- beaten unconscious by an angel of the Lord would likely not be high on the list.

Castiel set the bottle aside and pushed Sam gently forward, easing out from behind him. He bent and scooped the over-tall man up into his arms with ease, grateful he would not wake. He didn’t imagine Sam would enjoy being carried, but the angel decided he would be more comfortable in his bed. He opened the door and went silently through the room. He laid Sam out in his bed and pulled the blanket over him before going to the table. Dean didn’t stir and Castiel sat in one of the chairs to sit watch over his charges. Another only vaguely familiar emotion stirred in him as he sat quietly in the dark knowing he had somehow managed to earn the trust of these two very special souls for whom trust did not come easily – he thought it might be…contentment.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	34. For Doctor's Other Companion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Doctor’s Other Companion - Sam and Dean are stuck in a hotel in the middle of a blizzard. Watching Doctor Who, cos Sam secretly loves it to death, and Dean loves criticizing everything that happens on the show. 
> 
> A/N: Oh no! Not a prompt with Doctor Who in it! Whatever shall I do? Why, have the boys watch a classic ep I love that Dean can have a field day heckling of course. One viewing of “The Pyramids of Mars” in a snow-locked motel with the boys! Coming up! …also, a dash of hurt!Sam because I know you. :P

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean pulled open the door to the motel’s rental office, fighting to move it against the snow piled up against it and the frigid wind blowing at him. “Sam! Come on!” He looked back and waited for his brother to stagger to the door and inside. He looked out at the wintry wasteland before stepping inside and nearly went to his knees as the warmth hit him in the face. “Holy crap. Woop.” He dashed forward and caught Sam as his legs did give out. “Easy.”

“Wow! You guys alright?” The clerk at the desk watched wide-eyed as Dean led his brother to one of the chairs and pushed him down into it.

Dean wiped snow out of his hair and went to the desk, leaning wearily on it. “Been better. Some jackass ran us off the road about a mile and a half back.” He glared out the window by the door. “We just need a room ‘til we can get pulled outta the damn ditch.” The big rig had come barreling up the road behind them and Dean had had no choice but to run the Impala off the road or be crushed under eighteen wheels. He’d gotten up close and personal with the steering wheel and Sam had taken a hell of a crack to the head. Frankly, Dean was surprised the passenger window hadn’t shattered.

“Probably be a day or two but lucky for you, I got a room and the pizza joint next door never closes for this crap.” The clerk chuckled and turned a sign-in book to Dean then frowned. “Hey, he ok?”

Dean glanced over at his brother. Sam sat hunched in the chair, holding his head and likely trying to keep it from falling to pieces, or at least he was sure it felt that way.

“Yeah. Hard head. Room?” Dean quickly scrawled the first name he could think of and took the key the clerk slid over to him. “Thanks.”

“You, uh, you want help getting him to your room?” The clerk eyed Sam as Dean pulled him up and figured the guy could probably accidentally squish him, but he’d help if he could.

“Naw, he’s fine.” Dean smirked at the wide-eyed look on the kid’s face. “Come on, sasquatch.”

“I’m goo…good. I’m good.” Sam tried shaking his head to clear the cobwebs and groaned as it just made it hurt more. He’d been doing alright trudging through the snow until they’d come inside and the warmth had started to seep into him. Sam groaned when Dean shoved the door open and the cold and snow swirled back in to meet them.

Dean pulled his brother back out into the snow and headed down the long building through the drifts. Their bags weighed down his left side, and Sam was quickly weighing down his right. “No nappin’ ‘til we get to the room, dude. Keep walking.”

“I am.” Sam picked his feet up and ducked under some low-hanging icicles from the roof. “Sure like to find that trucker and thank him.”

Dean chuckled and stopped at their room. “Dammit.” He had to argue with the door as the cold seemed to have frozen the lock. He kicked it and grinned when it bounced open. “Ok, here we go.” He pulled Sam inside and gave him a shove toward the far side of the room as he flicked on the light and shut the door on the bitter winter.

Sam blinked in the sudden light and snorted as he looked around. “Polka dots?”

“Awesome,” Dean groaned. The walls were painted in giant, multi-colored polka dots and he had the sudden urge to use them for target practice, especially when he saw the matching spreads on the two queen size beds. The couch in front of the television was a disturbing shade of green but the tv at least was decent and Dean took a moment to smile at the thirty or so inch flat screen. “Nice.”

Sam dropped onto the bed and got his jacket off, kicking at his snow sodden boots until they tumbled off too and then flopped back into the pillow with a groan. “Wake me up for spring.”

Dean chuckled and dropped their bags on the other bed. He pulled his open and grabbed the can of salt and a marker. He was torn between making sure his brother’s head wasn’t cracked open and needing to proof the room and opted for safety first.

Sam cracked an eye and sighed. He sat back up and grabbed the marker from Dean’s hand as he went to the window between the beds. “Gimme.”

“Dude, lay the hell down,” Dean said irritably as Sam ignored him and went to the door. “You get a free pass when your head gets caved in.”

Sam snorted. “My head’s fine.” His chest hurt more than his head really, but he wasn’t going to tell Dean that because it had nothing to do with the crash. It was the Trials, and, unless he was coughing blood, he wasn’t going to put that hopeless look back on his brother’s face if he didn’t have to.

Dean stared hard at the back of Sam’s head while he scrawled protective symbols over the door. He knew the stubborn idiot was hiding crap…again. He shook his head and started pouring a salt line at the window. He’d made him promise not to hide it from him anymore, and while he figured Sam probably wouldn’t try and run off if he started coughing blood, he knew damn well the kid wasn’t going to start fessing up to every ache and pain; it wasn’t the Winchester way. He’d just have to keep a closer eye on him.

Sam didn’t argue…much, when Dean finished pouring the salt lines and yanked the marker from his hand. He smirked and went back to his bed to roll his aching head into the pillow again. “So, pizza?”

Dean capped the marker and nodded. “Sounded like our only option. Lemme guess…you want the rabbit special.”

“There’s nothing wrong with veggie pizza, Dean.” Sam chuckled.

“Unless it’s got bacon, it’s wrong.” Dean smirked and grabbed the flyer next to the phone. He took it and his phone over and tossed them next to his brother who he then yanked up to sitting. “You order while I check your head.”

Sam groaned and rolled his eyes but picked up the flyer and the phone. “It’s a bump. It’s fine.”

“Shuddup.” Dean pushed his head forward and felt around while Sam dialed. He found the sizeable knot on the right side of his head, making Sam hiss. “Sorry.” He’d cracked his head good on the frame around the window and Dean frowned when his fingers came away wet with blood. “Don’t lay back.” He ordered while Sam talked to the pizza man and went to the bathroom for a towel. He wet one and came back to find Sam hunched over.

“Got you a meat lovers,” Sam told him, or rather told his brother’s legs when they stopped in front of him. His head was suddenly splitting again and he didn’t feel like lifting it. “Extra bacon.”

Dean chuckled and smiled. “Nice one.” He tipped Sam’s head over and found the cut, thankfully small, and cleaned it quickly. He folded the towel and pressed it there. “Here. Hold this ‘til it stops bleeding.”

“Thanks.” Sam rolled back onto the bed and held Dean’s phone up to him.

Dean grabbed the remote and dropped onto his bed, turning on the television and cursed as the screen showed snow. “Aw come on! It’s bad enough we gotta be holed up here but the cable’s out?”

“No porn for you,” Sam laughed.

Dean snarled in irritation and surfed through the channels until he finally found one that wasn’t snow or the damn weather. “What the hell is this?” He tossed the remote aside as a particularly ridiculous looking mummy walked into frame. “…and why is that guy’s scarf like a mile long?”

“Huh?” Sam jerked his head up to look and then grinned. “Holy shit, dude! It’s Doctor Who!”

“Doctor what?” Dean raised a brow at him and looked back at the television.

“Doctor Who. Classic British science fiction.” Sam smiled at the TV. “I got into it at college.”

“Huh. Ok, well she’s hot.” Dean smirked at the attractive, young, brunette woman in a long white dress.

“That’s Sarah Jane.” Sam tossed the blood-spotted towel at his head. “Keep your dirty thoughts to yourself.”

“Holy crap, you know her name.” Dean laughed, batting the towel away. “What the crap is that?” He asked as an actor appeared in a black robe and bizarre black dog mask with giant ears.

“Sutek.” Sam leaned back and pushed his pillow up behind him. “Evil dude.”

“Well, clearly.” Dean snorted as the characters ran from the lumbering mummies. “Dude, those things can barely walk. How is that even a threat? Tie one of ‘em to a tree and you’re golden.”

Sam laughed. “It’s sci-fi. You’re supposed to suspend disbelief. Considering your love of cheesy monster movies, I’m surprised this is an issue for you.”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up earlier?” Dean chuckled and laughed outright as an unsuspecting victim was killed by a mummy. “Dude! He helped the mummy get his hands in the right place to strangle him.”

“Pyramids of Mars is classic Who.” Sam shrugged. “There’s a new series too. You’d like it; more explosions and hotter women.” He looked down at his watch and swung his legs off the bed. “I’ll go grab pizza.”

“I got it.” Dean started to move but Sam gave his shoulder a shove.

“It’s the other end of the building. I think can handle it, Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes. He pulled his boots back on and his jacket and glanced back to watch the Doctor dashing through the woods with his over-long scarf trailing behind him. “Could use that scarf right now.” He grinned as he opened the door and snow swirled in. He closed it quickly on Dean’s laugh and headed down the motel. He pulled his jacket against the wind driven snow and rounded the corner of the building, following the smell of cooking pizza. There wasn’t a car on the road to see as the snow seemed to have shut everything down.

Sam pulled open the door of the shop and then stopped as he glanced into the back parking lot. There, under the street lamp, was a big rig parked near the building and he’d remember that damn flying pig on its side anywhere. He let the door of the pizza shop close and smiled.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean sat up as the motel room door opened and Sam came in bearing two pizza boxes and a case of beer. “Dude! What took so long?” He waved an arm at the screen. “They’re stuck on Mars in a pyramid now and Sarah’s about to get friggin suffocated in a giant test tube.”

Sam laughed and passed him the top box and then a beer before going to his own bed. He shrugged off his snow covered jacket, kicked his boots off again and dropped to sit. He popped open a beer and leaned back with a satisfied smile.

“Why do you look so damn pleased with yourself?” Dean frowned.

“You know that rig that ran us off the road?” Sam glanced over and saw his nod. “It’s parked out back.” He grinned. “Poor guy’s gonna have one hell of a flat tire problem come morning.”

Dean’s jaw dropped as a grin spread across his face. “You didn’t?”

Sam pulled his knife out from behind his back and set it on the nightstand. “All eighteen wheels.”

Dean burst into laughter and held his beer out, tapping it to his brother’s. “That’s my boy.”

Sam pushed open his box and pulled out a slice, watching happily as the Doctor saved Sarah and Dean chuckled at the special effects. “You know you love the mummies.”

“Whatever, dude. I will say…” Dean nodded toward the big blue police box. “…gotta respect a guy who goes for a classic ride.”

Sam laughed and shook his head. “Trust you to bond with the Doctor over his ‘car’.”

Dean nodded, pleased that his little brother had dealt a little revenge for his baby and that, for the moment at least, he looked good; healthy. It was worth watching the old British show alone for the little smile that had yet to leave Sam’s face. “There’s another one on after this.” He drained his beer and pulled another out of the box. “Bet this show gets even better when you’re drunk.”

Sam snorted and held out his hand for another beer and looked up for a moment, sifting through his internal library of Doctor Who trivia and then smiled. “Oh, the next one’s the Android Invasion. You’re definitely gonna want another beer.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_The End._


	35. For KKBELVIS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For KKBELVIS - I'd love a snake bite Sammy story...where they are in the woods away from the Impala and Dean has to get Sam out of there on foot somehow and Sam of course is in a bad way...having a bad reaction... Shame on me but I have to mention my kink....I love Sammy not being able to breathe during his bad reaction to the snake bite....tee-hee....
> 
> A/N: Seems fitting somehow to end on a healthy dose of hurt/limp!Sammy and awesome/caring!Dean LOL Set somewhere in season 1

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

“Ok.” Dean brushed mud off his chest with irritated swipes. “You know what I want your geek brain researching from now on? Figure out how to get rid of wendigos permanently.”

Sam chuckled and wiped more mud from his hair. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” The creature had tossed them both into a mud hole before they’d killed it, and it was going to be one long, miserable walk back to the car with Dean in a foul mood. His cell phone hadn’t survived its mud dunking; neither had Sam’s and that little gem on top of everything else served to set Dean fuming.

“I HATE nature!” Dean shouted up into the trees. “Stop laughing before I hit you!”

Sam did his best to smother it and nodded. “Sorry.”

Dean hopped a log and then looked back to find Sam sitting on it. “What? I seriously need to be clean, dude.”

“My shoes are filled with this crap.” Sam smirked at him and pulled off his left sneaker. He banged it on the log and clumps of mud fell out with a wet splat. “You can squish for an hour back to the car.”

Dean ran both hands through his hair and threw the mud that came loose at his brother. “Catch that for me.”

“Jerk!” Sam ducked his head with a laugh and pulled his other shoe off. “Shit!” He yelled and leaped off the log, stumbling and came up grabbing Dean’s arm.

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean stared at him in confusion.

“Something bit me!” Sam pointed toward the log and then froze as they both heard the distinct sound of something rattling.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean pulled his gun and looked under the log while he swallowed on a sudden stab of concern as he saw the small, angry snake beneath the log. “It’s a rattlesnake. Juvenile. Dammit.” He stepped clear and grabbed his brother, pulling him further away. “How bad did it get you?”

Sam shook his head and let Dean lead him a few yards away. “I dunno.”

“Sit.” Dean shoved him down against a tree and took out a flashlight. He shone on it Sam’s foot and found a single, bleeding puncture just above his ankle. Relief made him smile. “Looks like it just caught a piece of you. Alright.” Their father and Bobby had made sure they knew what they were doing in the woods, considering the number of hunts that took them into the wilderness. A rattlesnake bite wasn’t anything to laugh off but he took comfort that it had been a juvenile and hadn’t gotten a full dose of venom in him. If they were lucky, the worst Sam would have to deal with was a sore leg. He looked over at him and smirked. “I’m not sucking snake spit outta your leg, dude.”

Sam laughed. “Lucky for you that’s an old wives tale or I’d make you.”

“You and what army?” Dean snorted and bent back to the wound.

Sam felt around the ground near him and came up with a couple sturdy branches. “Here. These should work.” He knew as well as his brother that the best thing to do was splint his lower leg and try not to move too much until they could get to a hospital. “Man, all those times Bobby dragged us camping as kids and I never got tagged. Not once.”

Dean chuckled and took the branches, breaking them to the length he needed. “Guess your luck had to run out eventually.” He pulled his pack around and rooted through it until he came up with the twine and set about splinting Sam’s leg to keep it as still as possible. “Alright, stumpy. Let’s go. How’s it feel?”

Sam let Dean pull him up and shrugged. “Ankle feels weird…kinda like it’s burning, but I’m good.”

“You let me do most of the work.” Dean pulled Sam’s arm over his shoulders and got them moving. He smirked. “Not like you don’t do that anyway.”

“Shut up. I carry my weight.” Sam scowled at him and then chuckled. “Well, not at the moment. Hey! Don’t forget my shoe!”

Dean rolled his eyes and stopped. “Lean on that.” He pushed him to a tree and got his flashlight back out. The rattler was still under the log and Dean skirted carefully around the snake until he could snatch his brother’s sneaker from where it had fallen. He went back and found Sam staring at the ground as if in concentration. “Hey. You good?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.” He looked up and put his arm back over Dean’s shoulders. “Don’t think I like being snake bit.” He let Dean ramble on about how they were never camping or hiking again, how next time they were just going to napalm the damn forest to get the wendigo and focused on his leg. It wasn’t just his ankle that burned now, the sensation was slowly moving up his leg to his knee, and it hurt…a lot, more with each passing step. “Shit. Dean…wait. Stop.”

“What is it? The bite?” Dean stopped and held on to Sam when he swayed.

“Ok…that hurts. Keep going.” Sam didn’t let Dean stop. There was no point in taking a break. He needed a hospital and anti-venom.

Looking at Sam’s pale face, Dean picked up the pace as well as he could while trying to keep his brother’s left leg as still as possible. The fear had returned with each pained hiss and grunt, because a glancing bite from a snake that small shouldn’t be affecting him like it was. He’d been bitten a couple times and he remembered how it had felt, and this, as Sam staggered and suddenly gripped on to his chest as he gasped…this shouldn’t be happening.

“Dean.” Sam stopped as the pain in his leg hit an unbearable level and made his head swim and the breath clog in his chest.

“Ok, easy.” Dean eased him down to sit against a tree and took his flashlight back out. He had to pry Sam’s hand from the front of his shirt. “Let me look, Sammy.” He knelt and pulled up the mud-crusted leg of Sam’s jeans. “Holy shit.” Sam’s leg was swollen from ankle to knee, looking more like the stump of some tree than a human leg. He pressed his fingers gently into the flesh and it felt like stone it was so hard and unyielding. “Ok, not good.”

“How…how bad?” Sam let his head drop back against the tree and focused on just breathing past the worrying constriction in his chest.

Dean ran a hand through his hair to give himself a minute as he ran through everything they’d been taught. He knew it was the venom swelling his leg, and he knew what he was going to have to do to fix it.

“Fasciotomy,” Sam said breathlessly, nodding to himself. “Relieve the pressure. I remember.”

“’course you do,” Dean said ruefully and smiled at him, but it quickly faded as he took out his knife and dropped the bag, searching through it until he found the small first aid kit and the little bottle of alcohol inside. “This is gonna suck, dude.”

Sam nodded. He knew. Dean would have to open up his leg to release the pressure or he’d risk losing it. “Just…just do it. I’m good.”

Dean tugged the sheath for the small knife from the back of his jeans and handed it to him. “Bite down on that.” He bent over Sam’s leg and pulled the pant leg down again. “Get you a new pair,” he muttered and then sliced up the denim to just above his knee. Dean cut the fabric loose and set it aside; he’d need it when he was done.

Sam nodded when he saw Dean glance up at him and put the leather sheath between his teeth. He took a breath to try and steel himself and closed his eyes.

Dean really didn’t want to do it as he poured alcohol over the blade and then liberally over his brother’s leg. Never mind the pain he was going to cause him -- an open wound in the damn forest was never a good idea. “Ok. Here we go.” He braced a hand above Sam’s knee and pressed the point of the blade below it. “Try to stay still.” Dean closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath, hating what he was about to do. His job was, and always had been to protect Sam from pain, not cause him more. The fact that it was necessary did not make it any easier for him to do what he knew he had to. He clenched his teeth and quickly made a neat incision.

Sam twitched as the knife broke the skin and his labored breathing turned into a guttural scream as he felt it slice down his leg toward his ankle. He fisted a hand in the shoulder of Dean’s jacket and howled around the leather, unable to stop it, while the pain seemed to build and build, and only the soft murmur of Dean’s voice trying to comfort him gave him anything to hold on to.

“Easy, Sammy. Almost. Keep breathin’.” Dean grimaced as blood flowed quickly, like it had been eager for a way to escape, and Sam’s leg trembled under his hand. He pushed harder on his knee to keep him still and dragged the knife down to just above his ankle then set it aside. “Alright. Done. All done.” Dean leaned up and pulled the sheath out of Sam’s mouth. “Take a breath, dude. Worst part’s over.”

Sam couldn’t stop gasping. His chest felt too tight to get a good breath, but he tried for Dean. “I’m…ok.” Yet, even as he said it, he felt his head tipping and his body sliding sideways as his vision narrowed down to a long tunnel and Dean’s worried voice.

“Sam? Sammy? Shit!” Dean caught him as his brother slid sideways and propped him back up. He tapped the side of his face. “No passin’ out on me, man. Come on.” He smiled with relief when Sam’s eyes fluttered open again and grimaced at the smears of Sam’s own blood he left on his cheek. Dean wiped his hand on his jeans and squeezed his brother’s neck. “That’s it, buddy.”

Sam nodded weakly. “Kay.”

Dean figured that was the best he was going to get and gave his neck another comforting squeeze before he went back to his leg. He used the last of the alcohol to wash out the cut he’d made, and let Sam bruise his fingers into his shoulder while he did. “Just gonna bandage this up now.” He was talking more for his own benefit than Sam’s really, needing to hear his voice over the sound of Sam’s labored breaths and knowing he was the cause.

Sam knew he had to be hurting Dean with the grip he had on his shoulder, but he couldn’t make himself let go. It wasn’t the pain in his leg scaring the crap out of him now; it was the fact he just couldn’t catch his breath. “Dea…Dean.” He gasped it weakly and tightened his fingers. “C-can’t…breathe.”

Dean tied off the loose bandage he’d made with Sam’s pant leg and narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean you can’t breathe?”

Sam shook his head, clenching his fingers on Dean’s shoulders as dizziness took what little breath he had. “Chest…s’tight.”

“Shit!” Dean stared for a moment and then swallowed back the fear. “Ok. It’s gonna be fine, dude. You hear me? Just keep breathing.” He quickly re-splinted Sam’s leg, packed everything back in the bag and shouldered it before he turned and pried Sam’s hand from his shoulder. “I’m gonna carry you. Don’t argue with me.” He ignored the shake of Sam’s head. “You’re having a damn allergic reaction or something, Sam. Walkin’s just gonna make it worse so shut up already.”

Sam wanted to argue, wanted to say he could walk himself as long as Dean helped, but the fact he couldn’t even fight him off when Dean grunted, groaned, and pulled him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry told him Dean was right.

“Son of a…gotta stop feedin’ you.” Dean groaned under the weight and started off in as fast a walk as he could manage. Sam wheezed in his ear, spurring him to move faster along with the death-grip his little brother had in his jacket, like Dean was his lifeline and Sam was afraid to let go. “Keep breathing, Sammy. That’s all you gotta do.”

Dean lost track of time, all his attention focused on staying on his feet and the increasingly labored breathing of his little brother over his shoulders. Part of him said to stop and give Sam a rest while all his training screamed that a hospital was his only hope and to keep moving. He briefly considered crying with relief when the Impala finally came into view through the trees. It gave him a last burst of energy that quickly fled once they reached the car and he slid Sam down to lean against the car.

“How you doin’, Sammy?” Dean asked, breathless with exertion as he supported him against the car and got the passenger door open. It drove adrenaline through him when all Sam gave was a short nod. He was somehow both pale and flushed and there was a disturbing blue tint starting to show on his lips. “Alright. It’s ok. Here.” He eased Sam down into the seat and closed the door then ran around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel.

“Twenty minutes to the nearest hospital. You can do that.” Dean assured him as he sped down the country road. “Sammy?” He watched with his heart twisting in his chest as his brother slowly slid over toward him with short, weak panting breaths.

“S…sor…sorry…Dean.” Sam’s voice was a bare whisper, catching in his chest. He couldn’t get enough air and he really tried to stay conscious but he just didn’t have anything left.

“No, no, no!” Dean grabbed him and let him rest against his shoulder. “Don’t you quit on me, Sam! Don’t you dare! Keep breathing!” He flattened his hand over his brother’s chest and floored it as he felt Sam’s chest rising and falling in ever more shallow movements.

He drove recklessly and didn’t give a damn if he picked up a cop or not. Thankfully, Dean squealed the Impala into the hospital unnoticed by law enforcement and stopped practically in the doors to the emergency room. He was around the car without remembering opening his door and pulled his brother up and over his shoulder. Sam had lost his battle with breathing barely a minute before he stopped the car. Dean wasn’t sure how his own heart had managed to keep beating through the terror of that sudden, horribly silent stillness.  
  
“HELP!” Dean bellowed it as the doors slid open. Whether it was his tone of voice or the frantic, desperate plea on his face, the nurses lurched into motion and had Sam off his shoulder and on a gurney being wheeled away before his shout had died. He answered the questions fired at him in a daze, never taking his eyes from Sam. He winced when they shoved a tube down Sam’s throat and groaned when they unwrapped his leg and he saw his handiwork that had looked careful enough by flashlight but under the fluorescent lights seemed to mock him as having been done by a blind man.

Dean snarled at the orderlies who tried to make him leave and earned a spot at the back of the room. There was no way in hell he was leaving his brother. He didn’t know how long it was until the furor died down, the army of medical staff thinned and finally it was just them, a nurse at Sam’s side and a weary doctor smiling up at him.

“Mr. Bonham, you did everything right.” The doctor said and put a hand on the man’s arm. His presence had been like an accusation in the room that he had better not fail in saving his brother. It had spurred them all on, he thought. “Sam’s going to be fine.”

“He’s still in pain.” Dean observed, seeing the twitches in Sam’s arms and legs.

“That’s the anti-venom. It’s normal. The next twelve hours aren’t going to be fun for him, but he will come through.” He nodded and watched the same relief he felt slide onto the younger man’s face. “The fasciotomy you performed saved his leg and his life. It’s rare to find someone with an allergy to rattler venom. Bleeding the pressure off lessened the venom in his system.”

“He’s gonna be alright?” Dean needed to hear it again. “He’s still on a ventilator.” They had yet to remove the offending tube from Sam’s throat.

“We just need to get his saturation levels back up. You’re sure it was less than a minute when you brought him in that he’d stopped breathing?” He smiled when Dean nodded. “That’s good. Very little likelihood of brain damage. You can sit with him. In fact, I recommend it. He’s going to panic when he wakes up and finds the tube in his throat. Keep him calm. I’ll be back to check on him in an hour.”

“Thanks.” Dean was already moving and at his brother’s side as the doctor and nurse left the little room. There were no chairs or stools, so he propped a hip on the side of the bed and spread a hand over Sam’s chest. Dean closed his eyes and allowed himself to take his first deep breath with his brother, feeling his heart beating beneath his fingers. “Jesus, Sammy,” He whispered it and scrubbed his other hand down his face. The fear-fueled adrenaline finally began to seep out of his system and he shook. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

Twenty minutes later, Dean saw the moment Sam started to climb towards consciousness. He doubted anyone else would have noticed, but they hadn’t spent a lifetime watching the kid grow up. “Sammy.” He slid a hand around the back of his neck, careful of the tubing coming out of his mouth and watched Sam’s eyes move under his lids and then flutter open. For a moment, there was only confusion and then panic as he tried to breathe around the tube.

“Hey, hey! Take it easy. Don’t fight it!” Dean waited for Sam’s eyes to meet his and smiled. “You’re ok. You stopped breathing, but they’re gonna take the tube out soon, alright? Just nod or something.”

Sam nodded and tried not to fight the air being forced in and out of his lungs. He tried to lift his head and groaned when he didn’t have the strength. Instead, he looked up into Dean’s eyes, trying to get across what he needed to know.

Dean snorted. “Don’t worry. You still got both flamingo legs.” He smiled and patted Sam’s chest as he watched the relief flow across his face. He saw Sam’s eyes squeeze shut as his body trembled and sighed. “Doc says that’s the anti-venom workin’ through you. It’ll pass.”

Sam managed to get a hand up and bumped it into his brother’s chest where he fisted his fingers in his shirt. He’d honestly thought he was going to die in the car. Even Dean’s voice shouting at him to hang on and keep breathing hadn’t been enough to drive the air into his lungs, and he’d passed out with the sure knowledge he was never going to wake up again. He still felt the remnant of that terror with the tube down his throat and the expression on Dean’s face that was eloquent of just how close he’d come.

“Take it easy, ya big girl. You’re fine.” Dean rolled his eyes because it was obvious what Sam was thinking. “Like I’d let you kick the bucket on my dime. Get a grip. Dad would kill me, and not quick either. I plan on goin’ out in style.” He smirked. “Preferably on top of a red head.” He chuckled when Sam rolled his eyes. He kept up his one sided conversation until the doctor came back. Dean stayed where he was when Sam refused to let go his hold of his shirt while they removed the breathing tube and gave the nurse a dirty look for her brief attempt to pull him away.

Dean lifted his brother’s head up while the doctor gave him a cup and a straw and kept a hand on his chest while he coughed in the aftermath of the tube being gone. “Better?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.” He scowled at how hoarse and weak his voice sounded. He listened to the doctor and sighed in relief when he left after promising to get Sam in a room soon. He looked up at his big brother and smiled because Dean may be a pain in the ass and drive him to screaming some days, but then there were moments like this when he sat there and pretended he didn’t know Sam still had a hold of his shirt and made sure he didn’t wake up alone with a tube in his throat. “Dean…thanks.”

“Whatever. Eat your ice chips, princess.” Dean gave him his best sneer, but he still didn’t pull Sam’s hand loose from his shirt. He’d been through hell, or close enough, if he still needed to hold on to him, Dean wasn’t going to stop him. “Get some sleep. I’ll bust you outta here tomorrow once they’re done pumpin’ you full of anti-venom.”

Sam nodded, smiled and closed his eyes. “Jerk.”

Dean laughed and thumped his hand on his chest once and finally relaxed. “Bitch.”

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

The End.

Thank you to all the prompters who helped to make the Third Edition of the Reader's Special so much fun and to all of you faithfully reviewing each chapter...I love you. :D


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